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For the Sake 
of the Faith 

FOUR STORIES OF THE TIMES 
OF THE REFORMATION 


M. Rüdiger 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 


REFORMATION SERIES, VOL. I 


1905. 

The German Literary Board, 

BURLINGTON, IOWA. 





LIBRARY of SONGHIESS 
I WO Copies ReceivoU 

ftiAR i 1905 

Jcpyrigni tntry 

, 7 ^, 7 , 

CUSS AXc. Not 
/ 0^3'^ U- 
COPY b. 

J OifB- 




Copyright 1905, 

By R. Neumann, Burlington, Iowa 


£onteitt$< 


“A Good and Faithful Servant (1521)” . . 
“Fear Thou Not, for I Am With Thee (1524) 

“Love Never Faileth (1552)” 

“Enduring Unto the End (1558)” 











''H Good and TaitMul ServaHt" 

(J52I) 

In a cell of the Augustinian monastery at Ziitphen 
there sat, about the year 1521, a monk named Henry 
Moeller. It was night, and every one lay soundly sleep- 
ing ; he, the only one awake, was reading eagerly by the 
dim light of a candle. Before him lay loose sheets of a 
coarse kind of paper, the contents of which must have 
been something worth while, since for their sake he was 
sacrificing his night’s rest. Presently he rose and paced 
back and forth in great excitement. His eyes, beam- 
ing with ecstacy, were directed upwards, and because 
no human being was near with whom he could speak 
or who, indeed, could have understood him, he talked 
with his God, and that with such fervency of praise and 
thanksgiving, it seemed to him as if He were at his 
very side. 

Henry Moeller had always been a devout monk, but 
of late there had come to him the realization that such 
as he could not straightway inherit the kingdom of 
heaven merely because they were of the monastical order. 
The fame of Dr. Martin Luther had penetrated to him, 
he had read those writings of his which with the speed 
of the wind had spread through all lands ; and now he was 

* After a short sketch by Klaus Harms-Kiel, 1852. 

5 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


possessed by a mighty longing to see and hear for him- 
self this great man of God, in order that he might get a 
clearer understanding of all that which had stirred his 
heart. That the prior would allow him to go, if he re- 
quested it, he knew. When the morning dawned, he was 
firmly resolved to ask such permission, and at the first 
opportunity he went to him, telling him freely and openly 
what was in his heart, and how he wished at Witten- 
berg from Doctor Martin to learn what was the true faith 
and the genuine way of preaching. 

The prior considered awhile and then answered: 
“It may be well, my son ; I know of nothing better 
than to send you thither. Up to this time you have been 
a faithful and obedient monk, and you will continue to 
be so. Go and see what is taking place in Germany and 
then bring us tidings. I send you as once Herod sent 
the wise men, but I beg of you, yea, command you, to 
come again and report to me what you have seen and 
heard.’' 

Henry Moeller arose and set out, going to Wit- 
tenberg. There, to be sure, he saw things other than 
he ever could have dreamed of in his monastery. Like 
a breath of fresh air seemed the teaching that met him 
there, and he became really joyous at the grace and 
blessing that streamed upon him. 

Dr. Martin soon grew fond of him, but while Henry 
would have liked to enjoy the benefit of his company 

6 


''A Good and Faithful Servant (1521), 


for a longer time, he felt that he must return home 
to share with his countrymen the treasure he had found. 

It was not long until he was preaching freely and 
fearlessly in Antwerp. Many listened to him, and with 
enthusiasm. Yes, now they perceived how formerly they 
had been fed with husks; now they tasted of bread and 
drank from the living spring; now they cast the yoke 
from their necks and looked up freely to their Father 
in heaven; the fires of purgatory no longer held any 
terrors for them. But the more eagerly the people clung 
to and flocked to hear the inspired preacher, whom from 
his birthplace they now called Henry von Zütphen, the 
more did the followers of the old faith look askance at 
him. It was only a little while until he became too 
powerful to suit them, and they secretly consulted to- 
gether how they might silence him, all agreeing however 
that it was not possible to do so by fair means, and 
that they would have to use force. 

They bided their time, and then succeeded in put- 
ting this faithful witness into prison. There was great 
lamenting among those whose hearts had been turned to 
the new doctrine, for they were left alone, with- 
out a leader or guide. Their enemies were powerful 
and they themselves but a handful in comparison to 
them, yet they did not lose courage. Secretly they came 
together, consulted and made plans, and finally on a 
dark, stormy night were successful in rescuing their 

7 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


beloved Sir Henry from prison. He himself would have 
been willing indeed to suffer still further for the Lord's 
sake, but he knew that since He had let him be set free, 
it was because He had something more for him to do in 
the world, and he was glad to be of further service to 
his brethren. 

First he went to Wittenberg and from there to 
Bremen, where he was received with joy, and where 
in the Church of St. Ansgar he preached with great 
success and blessing. How different he found it here 
from his own country ! Freely and publicly he announced 
the new doctrine, and all the people rallied about him 
and praised God that He had placed again upon a 
candlestick the Light which had been hid under a bushel. 

Henry von Zütphen's fame went out into all lands, 
and his sermons became more and more earnest and 
powerful. Many came from abroad to hear him and 
to seek his help and advice in spiritual things ; he was 
a mighty instrument in the hand of God for the turning 
of many hearts unto Himself. 

Among other places whither his fame reached was 
Süderdithmarschen. It was in the year 1524 that the 
widow Wiebge Junge sat spinning in her comfortable 
room at Meldorf. She was busily turning her spindle, 
watching in deep meditation the thread as it slipped 
through her fingers. 


8 


‘‘A Good and Faithful Servant (1^21). 


Outside the autumn wind was blowing, driving the 
dry leaves before it. It was growing dark. The woman 
hastily arose, saying half aloud: “It has to be — may 
God bless the undertaking.” She got her kerchief from 
her chest and put it on ; then closing up her little house, 
she took the road to the parsonage. 

A light was already shining in the chamber of the 
pastor, Nicholas Boje, who was not willing to waste a 
moment when it was possible for him to work, and 
who even now sat over his books. But he was not 
studying the large folio volumes. On one of them lay 
a sheet of paper, and from it he read half audibly: 

Christ lay in death’s dark prison 
For us a sacrifice. 

He soon again was risen 
That we like him should rise. 

Then let us joyous be, 

Praise God and thankfully 
Sing hallelujah! 

Hallelujah, Lord! 

He had not heard a soft tapping at his door, but 
now that the knocking grew louder he went to open it. 

“Why, good evening, Wiebge Junge,” said he kindly, 
“it must be something important that brings you here 
in such weather and at such an hour.” 

9 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


“It is indeed, reverend sir,’’ she rejoined. “I have 
had it on my mind a long time. I thought you might 
misunderstand, but — God give me the right words — 
well, — I think we ought to have one here who would 
tell us concerning the new doctrine.” 

The words were spoken, and with a deep breath 
Wiebge Junge sat down upon the wooden chair which 
the pastor had placed for her. 

The latter crossed his arms over his breast and 
with bowed head walked back and forth while she con- 
tinued : “Sir, I am blest with temporal goods ; the de- 
scendants of the Nannes are not paupers. I will gladly 
make sacrifices that some one may come who has been 
taught by Dr. Martin.” 

Nicholas Boje nodded, then stopping before the 
speaker, he looked at her frankly with his clear eyes 
and said: “My dear madam, I do not blame you for 
this ; moreover, my own heart is also full of longing 
to become acquainted with the new doctrine. I have 
long been interested in it, that you know. But I cannot 
be your teacher since I myself am as yet only a learner.” 

“It is exactly for this that I have come to you, sir. 
For about two years there has been at Bremen a former 
Augustinian monk, Henry von Ziitphen, who is an in- 
strument chosen of God for spreading abroad the pure 
truth. We should bid him come, for not alone you and 

10 


''A Good and Faithful Servant (1521). 


I desire it, but there are many others here in Meldorf who 
are longing to be instructed.” 

“I know it, Wiebge Junge, but there are too many 
enemies of the faith here in the city.”* 

“Of course, sir, Satan will not set fettered souls 
free so easily, but I think hesitation will gain us nothing. 
We must take the risk. Do you not think that the Al- 
mighty looks down upon our honest desire and will 
assist us?” 

“We will ask Him to do so.” 

“Yes, ask, and act also, sir. It seems to me I would 
have courage to go to Bremen myself to fetch that man 
of God.” 

“That is not necessary,” said Nicholas Boje, smil- 
ing, “I shall write a letter which we will send to Bremen, 
and then let Sir Henry decide whether he will come or 
not.” 

“He will come, I know.” 

“God grant it!” 

“Sir, write that he must lose no time in making 
known' to us the word of God and in tearing us from the 
jaws of the Anti-christ, since the latter rules here with 
so powerful a hand.” 

“I shall do so, Wiebge Junge, and may the Lord 
bless my weak words.” 


* Meldorf was a city at that time. 

11 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


“Farewell, sir ; do you know, my heart is light and 
joyous, since we soon shall have our desire/' She drew 
her kerchief about her shoulders and went out into the 
stormy autumn night, not heeding the weather. 

When she reached her cottage she saw someone 
standing in the door, waiting ; drawing nearer, she recog- 
nized her namesake, Greta Jensen, who lived in the home 
of the wealthy Hans Hemmling, helping his wife in the 
work of the household. 

Greta was an orphan, and in truth had found a 
second home in this house. Nevertheless she had a di- 
vided heart, for Hans Hemmling, his wife and their only 
son were stubborn adherents of the old faith. They 
were related to the prior, Torneborch, of the Augus- 
tinian monastery at Meldorf, and he watched jealously 
that nothing of the new doctrine should gain an en- 
trance among his faithful ones. From her childhood 
Greta had been particularly devoted to her godmother, 
who on her part had taken the orphaned child of the friend 
of her youth to her inmost heart. Formerly Greta had 
visited her much more frequently; but since Wiebge 
Junge had boldly and publicly made known with what 
eagerness she was seeking the new faith and how devoted 
she was to it, the Hemmlings had taken care that this per- 
nicious intercourse should not be allowed. Greta was 
much grieved at this, for her heart was drawn to her 
loving godmother, and moreover the precious seed of 

12 


''A Good and Faithful Servant (1521). 


the word of God had fallen into her own heart and 
had sprung up fresh and strong. 

When Wiebge Junge had reached the waiting girl, 
she exclaimed with astonishment, “Greta, are you here? 
But, my child, you are not allowed to come to my house, 
they think it will do injury to your soul if you ” 

“I had to come,” interrupted the maiden; “no one 
knows where I am, they were invited out this evening, 
and so will not notice that I am away. The old servant, 
Mary, will not tell on me ; she is as silent as the grave.” 

Meanwhile Wiebge Junge had unlocked the front 
door and the two entered. Soon they were sitting by 
the brightly blazing chimney-fire, and the godmother 
said encouragingly: “Well, Greta, what is the matter?” 

Then the maiden raised her beautiful sad eyes to 
her friend, and with hot flushes answered: “Godmother, 
’tis Andrew!” 

“Well?” she asked, when the former was silent, 
“have you quarreled?” 

“Quarreled? O no, he asked me to be his wife.” 

“And you do not wish to be ? Then you must 
say no.” 

Greta rose, threw her arms about the speaker's neck 
and whispered : “O, I love him so, I love him so, but — ” 

“But what?” 

“Godmother,” said the girl, straightening herself up, 
“he scorns the new doctrine, calls those who embrace it, 

13 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


cowardly rebels, who are lost both in time and in eternity ; 
and makes it a condition that I must renounce every- 
thing that pertains to it. This I cannot, and will not do.” 

Wiebge Junge looked at the girl before her in 
amazement. Her face, illumined by the red glow of the 
fire, looked transfigured and her blue eyes beamed with 
inspiration. 

“Well, what answer did you give Andrew?” ques- 
tioned her godmother. 

All the animation left her face, a deep pallor spread 
over it and Greta whispered with a choking voice: “I 
would think it over.” 

“And you have thought it over?” 

“I wanted to have your advice dear godmother.” 

Both looked silently into the fire, till at last Wiebge 
Junge said : “There is a new time coming and we shall 
have manna in abundance. Pastor Nicholas is going 
to send a letter to Henry von Zütphen tomorrow. The 
latter is to come and preach the gospel to us plainly and 
sincerely. O, child, how I rejoice at the prospect! You 
must make your decision alone. No one can advise or 
assist you in it, for you must of your own choice place 
yourself on the one side or the other. With the Blessed 
One there is peace and joy in plenty, but there are also 
persecution and hatred to be expected from those who 
do not know Him. With your beloved, there is outward 
well-being and earthly joy, but there will always be a 

14 


''A Good and Faithful Servant (1521). 


deep gulf between you, whether or not it is perceptible 
to the eyes of men. And then — it seems to me you have 
a longing for the real truth and know too much of 
its glory to cast it from you like a thing which has be- 
come inconvenient and tiresome.'' 

“You are right, godmother. I could not live so, 
against my convictions, and yet, — O, to forego every- 
thing that was my heart's joy and desire- — it is almost 
more than I can bear." 

Greta knelt down beside Wiebge Junge, hid her face 
in her lap and wept bitterly. The latter did not try to 
stop her, but with her hand gently stroked the girl’s 
head. At last she said softly : “There is one way to put 
an end to all indecision,” — and when the kneeling girl 
raised her face looking at her intently, she continued: 
“Commit thy way unto the Lord, — cast your care upon 
Him ! He, the Lord of our life, will do all things well. 
I shall pray with you that He may give you peace and 
joy, and that you may find the right way and walk in it.” 

“I thank you, godmother; I have found that way 
indeed. I know there is where light and truth are to 
be found, and I shall be able to walk in it if you help 
me with your prayers.” 

“God bless you, my darling child, and if you do not 
know where to turn, there will always be a place for you 
under my roof.” 


15 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


'‘No, godmother, they will not turn me away. It 
was for this reason Andrew first asked my consent, in 
order that, if I were to refuse, his parents’ disfavor might 
not rest upon me. But for me it will be doubly hard, to 
live near him and yet be obliged to lock and bury in my 
heart all my great love for him.” 

“The Lord is all powerful. He can do more than 
change the minds of the Hemmlings and turn their hearts, 
but of course, you, my child, must have faith, even the 
kind that moves mountains.” 

“I do believe, dear godmother.” 

“Then the blessed Lord will not hide His face from 
you nor shut His ears to your prayers; go in peace.” 

Greta rose and her motherly friend accompanied her 
to the door, saying: “Your heart will soon receive 
strength enough, for Henry von Ziitphen will not let 
onr appeal to him to be in vain, and you will find when 
you hear his words, that your sacrifice will seem trivial 
beside the great gift of the pure gospel.” 

With a comforted heart the maiden went slowly 
home. As she entered the sitting room, however, she 
started a little, for there before the bright chimney fire 
stood Andrew. 

“You have been at Wiebge Junge’s,” he exclaimed, 
looking searchingly into her face. 

“Yes, I was at her home and — Andrew — and — ” 
16 


”A Good and Faithful Servant’ (1^21). 


*‘And she said to you : ‘Let the poor lost sinner go/ 
didn’t she?” 

“No, Andrew, she refused to interfere or in any way 
advise me, — and she is right. I must decide for myself 
what my course will be, and — dear Andrew, — I know 
now.” 

She had seated herself on a stool opposite him ; her 
face was very pale and her hands, tightly clasped, lay in 
her lap. 

“Greta,” he implored, “don’t make yourself and me 
unhappy.” 

She did not answer, but only looked at him fixedly 
with her large eyes. 

“Speak, Greta,” urged Andrew, trying to take her 
hand. But she pulled it away gently and replied, ear- 
nestly: “I cannot do otherwise, I must be true to the 
Blessed One as I have lately come to know Him.” 

“And as for me?” cried Andrew, aroused. 

“I shall pray to God that He may turn your heart 
also to the light.” 

“Never,” ejaculated the young man bitterly; “I shall 
remain faithful to the old religion, let come what will.’' 

A melancholy smile passed over Greta’s features, as 
she answered, — “Andrew, do you stand firm, and yet 
ask me to act against my convictions? My Lord and 
Savior will give me strength to sacrifice earthly happi- 
ness for heavenly joy.” 

2 


17 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


'‘Greta, you have never loved me truly/^ 

“Andrew!’' The word sounded like a cry of pain. 

He looked at her, and stretched out his arms toward 
her, but she covered her face with her hands and sobbed 
aloud. When she looked up after awhile, Andrew was 
gone. She remained a long time before the dying fire, 
praying to God, and interceding also for the soul of her 
erring lover, until at last calmness and peace came with 
the sure conviction that the Lord would do all things well. 

The next day the letter was sent away to Henry von 
Ziitphen, and in great suspense the Rev. Nicholas Boje, 
as well as Wiebge Junge, awaited the answer. It could 
not reach them immediately, and they had to possess 
their souls in patience. 

The letter found Henry von Ziitphen sitting in the 
midst of a company of friends. He read it aloud, and 
immediately there arose a storm. He must not go; 
those people in Dithmarschen were not to be trusted; 
he was so greatly needed where he was; why should he 
want to leave them when God’s blessing was resting so 
visibly on his labors? — and much else beside. 

Henry bethought himself awhile, then replied : 
“Dear friends, is not the call which comes to me today 
the same as once came to Paul the Apostle, ‘Come over 
and help us?’ You have valiant men here, who declare 
to you the pure Word of God, guiding your souls in the 
right way; in Meldorf there is no one who does this, 

18 


Good and Faithful Servant** (1521), 


and you have heard that an ardent longing for the truth 
dwells in many hearts; therefore, be comforted, for it 
is God’s will that I should go.” 

“You do not know the people of Dithmarschen,” ex- 
claimed one of his friends excitedly, “I tell you, you 
are running into danger, for even though many among 
them may be devoted to the new doctrine, most of them 
cling to the old. Think of it. Prior Torneborch is in 
Meldorf and has a great following, he will spare no 
means of destroying you.” 

Henry von Ziitphen replied with a smile, — “Do 
you not think that the blessed Lord is stronger than the 
prior? In His name I will go.” Then suddenly be- 
coming very serious, he continued: “I can also suffer 
in His name if He has so willed.” 

His friends said no more, and that very evening the 
brave man despatched his answer, to the effect that he 
would come the first week in Advent. 

When Nicholas Boje received the letter in Meldorf 
he was greatly moved, and folding his hands he thanked 
the Almighty who was to show kindness to him and to 
so many souls hungering for salvation, and to fill them 
with good things. Then he put on his cloak and hastened 
to Wiebge Junge. 

“He is coming!” cried he triumphantly, standing 
in the doorway; “think of it, Henry von Ziitphen is 

19 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


coming! Madam, your prayers avail much at the throne 
of God!" 

Wiebge Junge looked at him with her clear gray 
eyes and replied, “Reverend sir, no more than those of 
other upright Christians ; you surely know that ‘the king- 
dom of heaven suffereth violence,' and ‘the violent take 
it by force.’ ’’ 

They talked for some time over the good news, and 
then the pastor went home, his heart filled with joy. 

Henry von Ziitphen kept his word. In spite of the 
continued efforts of his friends to dissuade him, he 
started on the Monday after the first of Advent, by way 
of Brunsbüttel, for Meldorf, arriving there the end of 
the same week. 

What rejoicing there was when the news spread, 
“Henry von Zütphen is here!" and it seemed the par- 
sonage would never be free from visitors who came to 
ask if it were really true. 

Late that same evening Greta came to Wiebge 
Junge’s and sat down beside her at the fire. The sweet 
young face was thin and pale, but her eyes shone won- 
derfully clear. 

“Godmother," said she, “I have been struggling 
hard to find a way out, but none has appeared, and 
although it hurts me more than my own suffering to 
see Andrew going about so gloomy and sad, yet I cannot 
do otherwise than acknowledge Him who has helped me 

20 


Good and Faithful Servant'" (1^21). 


to an understanding of the true faith. And now that 
we have a teacher here, it seems to me that I shall be 
quite happy, because he will teach us heavenly truths.’' 

Wiebge Junge nodded, her heart full to overflowing 
with praise. She was like a starving man before whom 
had finally been placed a full dish. “Greta,” said she 
solemnly, “the Lord has done great things for us, whereof 
we are glad ; and as for you, do not despair, if you have 
tasted heavenly joy, earthly happiness may also be be- 
stowed upon you, for God is the All-powerful.” 

But as great the joy which reigned among the 
friends and advocates of the new religion, so little was 
the favor that it found among its adversaries. 

On the same evening that Wiebge Junge talked with 
Greta, Prior Torneborch sat in his room in the Augus- 
tinian monastery. His features showed great disturb- 
ance and his eyes were blazing with an unsteady light. 
Finally he turned his head and listened. Steps were 
heard outside and presently a monk entered. The prior 
hastened toward him and said anxiously, “Well?” 

The newcomer’s features gave evidence of tremendous 
excitement and without delay he exclaimed, “Your rev- 
erence, everything is as you have heard. Henry von 
Ziitphen is at Nicholas Boje’s, and he will be the cause 
of a great sedition here.” 

The prior motioned him to be calm but Brother 
Philip went on, earnestly: “The people are in a frenzy 

21 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


of joy, and you will find out soon enough, your rever- 
ence, that the number of the faithful will be small. You 
know how people run after anything new, and the delight 
that all hearts feel in excitement.’' 

The prior controlled himself with an effort. He 
did not want it to be noticed how much this matter dis- 
turbed him. 'Tt is well, my son, we shall see who will 
gain the victory. I shall not be idle. Bring me news 
of everything that happens, for we must be vigilant.” 

Brother Philip hastened away. The prior folded his 
arms and walked back and forth with rapid steps. The 
night fell, hour after hour passed, and while Prior Torne- 
borch forged his sinister plans Nicholas Boje and his 
guest rested in peaceful slumber, disturbed by no thought 
of what the near future might have in store for them. 
They were safe in the protection of their God. 

When the day dawned the prior made himself ready 
in all secrecy for a journey to Heide. 

Dithmarschen was at that time a kind of peasant- 
republic under the bishopric of Bremen. It was divided 
into four provinces, each of which had a governor, ap- 
pointed by the Arshbishop of Bremen, and twelve elders 
chosen from the province itself. These constituted the 
highest authority in the land, and at the time in ques- 
tion they were in conclave at Heide. This Torneborch 
knew, and he accordingly lost no time in going thither. 

22 


Good and Faithful Servant' (1521). 


It was Saturday and as soon as he arrived, he had the 
council hastily called together. 

When they were assembled, he explained the sit- 
uation to them, that a heretic preacher, Henry von Züt- 
phen, had come from Bremen to Meldorf, having been 
sent for it was true, for there were many tares among 
the wheat in the said city — and that as much ado would 
soon be made over him as had been made in Bremen. 
The whole community would be perverted. 

‘‘Oh, oh !” exclaimed one of the administrators, “is it 
as bad as that.^ It does not seem possible.” 

“Not possible?” said the prior in sneering tones. 
“My dear Peter Nanne, your own sister leads in every- 
thing. It was she in fact who was the chief instru- 
ment in bringing the wolf into the fold.” 

An oath escaped from the one addressed and a flush 
of anger spread over his face. 

“My sister, Wiebge Junge?” he cried. “She shall 
answer for it.” 

“We will not talk about that now,” answered Torne- 
borch. “I beg of you, sir, first to advise with your 
companions and make clear to them the danger of the 
situation. You understand it, sir, and I can depend 
upon you.” 

He put his hand confidingly on Peter Nanne's 
shoulder, who felt himself much honored and flattered. 
The clerk of the council, Günter Werner, was also drawn 

23 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


to Torneborch’s side, and these two laid the case before 
the assembly after this fashion: 

If heresy should gain a foothold in their midst, the 
worship of the Virgin Mary would soon decay, dissen- 
sion and uproar would arise, and the country might 
lose its freedom; that on the other hand it would be 
a meritorious thing in God’s sight if they burned the 
mischief-maker at the stake. 

The suddenness of such a proposition frightened 
Prior Torneborch himself a little, and he opposed it with 
the false pretense that they should let Christian mild- 
ness reign, that they must allow the erring one room 
for repentance, and more such phrases. They debated 
vehemently, some siding with the prior and some with 
Peter Nanne, until finally they agreed not to pronounce 
an immediate sentence of death. Accordingly they wrote 
two letters, one to the parish of Meldorf, and the other 
to Nicholas Boje, to the effect that they must not let the 
monk preach, they must drive him away under threat 
of the severest penalty of law. 

Filled with malicious joy, Torneborch departed again. 
Now he could not escape him, this hated opponent. 
Late that night he was in Meldorf again, where he was 
awaited by his faithful Philip. Not brooking even the 
night’s delay, he ordered the latter to go to the par- 
sonage, to waken the sleepers, and give Nicholas Boje 
the letter. 


24 


''A Good and Faithful Servant” (1521). 


The monk hastened to perform the commission. He 
was obliged to wait a long time before they opened the 
door for him, and the pastor was not a little astonished 
to receive such a messenger at such an hour. 

By the dim light of his little lamp he read the 
vicar’s letter, then folded it thoughtfully and said, “My 
friend, the Council of Forty-Eight have nothing to do 
with church matters. I cannot obey their command. 
Such an affair is the business of our own people and 
officials.” 

“Is this your answer to his excellency, the prior?” 
asked brother Philip, shortly. 

“Yes, my friend.” 

“And what does the heretic say to it?” 

“Henry of Zütphen shall give his own answer. Wait 
a little, I will report the matter to him in his room.” 

Undismayed the man of God listened to the tidings, 
asked what was customary and legal, and declared ; 
“I shall follow my calling. I shall preach as long as the 
community wishes it, for we must obey God rather 
than men. If it is God’s will that I should die in Dith- 
marschen, then heaven is as near to me here as any 
place else. I have to shed my blood in God’s cause in any 
event.” 

With astonishment Nicholas Boje looked into the 
speaker’s peaceful countenance, upon which there ap- 
peared no trace of anxiety or fear. “Do you want to 

25 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


make your views known to the monk below yourself?" 
he asked. 

“With all my heart," he replied, and both went be- 
low, where the impatient messenger waited. 

Henry von Zütphen told him the same that he had 
said to his friend, and Brother Philip went away furious, 
to carry their answer to the prior. 

The latter was speechless with surprise and rage, 
but at last said: “Let us watch carefully the trend of 
affairs. We are still at the helm, and heresy shall not 
so easily gain an entrance." 

The next morning the people thronged to the church 
where the Rev. Nicholas Boje usually preached. Every 
seat to the very last was taken; nevertheless it was as 
still as death when Henry von Zütphen entered the pulpit. 
He preached on the Gospel for the Second Sunday in 
Advent, Luke 21, 25-36: “And there shall be signs in 
the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon 
earth distress of nations with perplexity," etc. It was 
a powerful sermon, so that all the listeners were in- 
spired and there was only one opinion among them : 
“The Holy Ghost speaks through him, for he has kindled 
and fired us." In the afternoon he preached on the 
Epistle lesson, and the throng of people who were hunger- 
ing for salvation was even greater than at the morning 
hour. 


26 


Good and Faithful Servant (1521). 


In the evening Greta sat beside Wiebge Junge, no 
longer pale and sad. Her eyes beamed and her cheeks 
glowed. 

“Godmother, '' she said, “I have no regret for what 
I have done. Although it will be a life-long grief to 
me that Andrew and I must go different ways, I know 
now that my heavenly Father will take me up and give 
me those everlasting possessions whose glories cannot be 
imagined.” 

“Can you not persuade Andrew to go but a single 
time to hear our preacher?” 

“He was there this morning and looks gloomier than 
ever. He has only scoffing remarks for that which 
fills my soul with peace. I felt uncomfortable in his 
presence, and when he noticed it he became still more 
ill-humored.” 

“The spirit of God will nevertheless do His work 
upon his soul, only let us not grow weary in lifting our 
hearts in prayer for him!” 

“When shall we hear the man of God preach again ?” 

“Wednesday and Friday, and that too twice a day; 
he wants to give something to everybody.” 

“Nothing shall prevent me from going to hear him, 
godmother; I think his words have given me courage’ 
to stand against the whole world !” 

As Wiebge Junge said, Henry von Zütphen preached 
thus often during the week, and the people came ia 

27 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


crowds from every direction. He soon gained more 
and more friends, who begged him incessantly to spend 
the Christmas season with them, that their souls might 
be further refreshed. 

But Prior Torneborch was not idle either. He ap- 
pealed again to the Council of Forty-Eight, and they 
commanded that Henry should not be allowed to preach 
under penalty of a heavy fine; and that the parish 
should send representatives to Heide on Monday, when 
the Council was to meet. 

The people of Meldorf were filled with indignation 
that such a letter should be written, contrary as it was to 
their constitution and to custom. “We cannot and must 
not endure this,” they exclaimed ; “they go too far. We 
will not give up our rights for them,” and all agreed 
in this. They decided to send delegates who in a 
friendly but firm spirit, should inform the Council of their 
attitude. 

Whilst conflict and excitement thus reigned among 
the parties, Henry von Ziitphen worked bravely to the 
honor of his Master. He preached, and those who had 
heavy hearts received counsel and help from him. O, 
how lovingly he dealt with doubting souls, and how 
diiferently from what they had been accustomed to from 
the monks and many of the priests. A gentle breeze 
seemed to pass through the parish, and all praised the 
Most High who had bestowed such favor upon them. 

28 


''A Good and Faithful Servant’' (1521). 


In the meantime the delegates at Heide did not 
accomplish much. The gentlemen there were too much 
enraged, and they grew more and more angry and ex- 
cited as the discussion progressed. Finally an old man, 
Peter Detlefs from Delve, arose and said : “We all know 
indeed, dear friends, that in all lands there is great 
discord over religion, and people like us, uneducated and 
ignorant in such matters, cannot judge in these affairs. 
Let it be our decision that we refer the whole question to 
the General Council, which is to be held in a short 
time, as our secretary reports. What our good neighbors 
hold to and keep, that, I think we too shall accept. If 
it should be as they say, that God’s Word is not taught 
with sufficient clearness, and there is some one who can 
teach it more clearly and purely, we will not forbid him, 
for we can have no uprising here. Therefore let every 
one be content and let the matter rest until Easter; 
meanwhile, what is right and wrong will be made man- 
ifest.” 

This proposition of the wise man was accepted, al- 
though they of Heide were not altogether satisfied. But 
the Meldorfians went home happy and the community 
rejoiced greatly that they might, for the time being, at 
least, see their beloved Henry von Ziitphen in the pulpit. 
Afterwards, they thought, the matter would continue 
to go on in the right way. Alas, bitterly were they to 
be disappointed ! 


29 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


When the result of the meeting at Heide had become 
known, and even while the people were rejoicing to- 
gether, Prior Torneborch stood among his monks and 
other enemies of the new doctrine who had joined them, 
goading them against the faithful witness and his teach- 
ings. He knew that it was not advisable to allow the 
fire which he had kindled and fanned again to grow 
cold, and he well understood the great danger there 
was in putting off a decision until Easter. The out- 
come of this meeting was that he, with some of his 
faithful ones, among them Peter Nanne, went to Lunden 
to confer with the monks there. They called together 
some noted men for consultation, but these did not 
wish to take part in the matter and consented at last 
merely to write once more to Meldorf. Upon which 
Torneborch arose, exclaiming vehemently, “No writing, 
they will write again and you will be entangled in heresy. 
We must get at it in another way. The best remedy is 
to take the heretic at night and burn him, before the 
authorities or the people are aware of it 

“Well said!’’ cried Peter Nanne; “and leave to me 
the execution of the plan, your excellency. I shall count 
it a special honor, and will thus right the wrong that my 
sister has committed in this connection.” 

The prior gave him his blessing, and the matter 
was accordingly arranged. Nanne went to the clerk 
Günter, whom he soon won over. 

30 


Good and Faithful Servant* (1^21). 


be sure we can’t do it alone,” said Peter 
Nanne, ‘Ve must have help.” 

“Let me provide for that,” replied the clerk eagerly. 
“I know a number of strong, bold men and these again 
will draw in others. There will be no lack of hands 
to share in the business.” They continued talking to- 
gether a long time, and when they separated it was with 
the words: “The loth of December, near midnight — at 
Hemingstadt.” 

Hemingstadt lies half a mile north of Meldorf, and 
on the loth of December of the aforesaid year there was 
a secret going and coming there until gradually five 
hundred men were assembled. When the vesper bell 
rang they started. First they took possession of all the 
roads that led to Meldorf in order that none might go 
thither and give warning. Then one of the leaders 
stepped forward and informed the crowd what was really 
expected of them. Most of them had had no intimation 
of it, and they regretted having come to burn a man, even 
if he were a heretic. It was a work far from their lik- 
ing. The ringleaders first ridiculed and then threatened 
them. The monks brought up some barrels of beer and 
drew for each as much as he wanted until the crowd, silly 
with drink, allowed themselves to be led where it pleased 
the ringleaders to take them. 

On account of this delay it had grown late, and 
when they entered Meldorf it was striking midnight. A 

31 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


profound stillness lay upon the town. At the convent 
only was there light and stir. Thither the crowd moved 
and the gates were willingly and gladly thrown open. 

The prior had provided torches, which they dis- 
tributed. The procession then quickly moved toward 
the parsonage. 

'‘How will we get in without making an uproar?" 
asked Peter Nanne. 

Whereupon a tall man stepped from the ranks and 
insolently said : “My name is John Maass. I am ac- 
quainted here. I will climb through the garret window 
and unbolt the door from within so that you may have 
free access to the reverend gentleman." 

This was done, and it was not long until they were 
inside. Some pressed into the sleeping room of Nicholas 
Boje, wakened him roughly, and when he was dressed 
forced him into the street, saying that he must go with 
them. Others, however, remonstrated, saying he should 
be set free, as they had no authority to take him. In 
the tumult poor Nicholas Boje was handled very 
roughly. 

Meanwhile others had rushed into the house and 
were shouting, “Where is the monk ? where is the monk ?" 
until they reached his little room. He was dragged out 
of bed, and hardly given time to put on necessary cloth- 
ing. Then amidst blows they tied his hands behind his 
back and he was taken out. 


32 


''A Good and Faithful Servant (1521). 


^'Unbind him !’' cried Peter Naniie, who was greatly 
distressed by such cruel treatment even towards an 
enemy; “he will go alone.” 

Accordingly they did so and handed him over to a 
ruffian, Bolke Johann, from the village of Lieth, who 
was to be his keeper on the march. This monster how- 
ever took delight in leading him through mud-puddles 
and over thin ice, which cut his feet until they were 
covered with blood. 

In Kemingstadt they stopped again. Henry was 
ready to faint. So exhausted was he, that it was almost 
impossible for him to go further, and he modestly asked 
if he might not ride. 

At this the mob laughed aloud and one cried outr 
“Are we to furnish a heretic with a horse yet? How 
did you come into the country ? And what have you lost 
by coming?” 

In mild and kindly accents he answered, “You, or 
at least your countrymen, called me. I came at the 
command of the Master, whose will it is that all men 
should be helped. I love your souls and wanted to save 
them. I — ” 

“Be still!” cried a voice from the crowd. “Away 
with him, away with him I He will make heretics of you 
all, if you listen to him.” 

And so they hurried on to Heide, which was still 
half a mile distant. There they took him into a cellar 
3 33 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


of one of the houses, and carried on every sort of mock- 
ery and rough sport with him, till at last clerk Günter 
went down to him. 

"‘Henry von Zütphen,” he began, “you know that 
we accuse you of heresy and I ask you now, whether you 
wish to be sent to the Bishop at Bremen or to receive 
your punishment here at Heide?” 

Calm and self-possessed the latter answered, “If I 
have taught or done anything that is unchristian, you 
have a right to punish me for it. God’s will be done.” 

He wanted to say more, but the clerk quickly cried 
out, “Hear, dear friends, he wants to die in Dith- 
marschen !” 

Henry sank exhausted on a bed of straw. He well 
knew that he might expect no mercy, but he also knew 
that the Lord was with him. His soul grew calm, yea, 
even joyous within him, and he found himself able to 
view the way before him without anxiety or dismay. 
Once more he said to himself, “God’s will be done,” 
then fell asleep as peacefully as a child. 

The dusk of the morning still lay over the market- 
place at Heide. The winter day was dawning dismally, 
when the mob assembled, and a general council took 
place as to what more should be done with the heretic. 
Most of them were still drunk, and soon an ominous roar 
resounded: “To the stake with him! to the stake!” And 
some whose voices were somewhat clearer added, “Thus 

34 


Good and Faithful Servant’' (1521). 


we shall gain honor today from God and man, — he 
must die !” 

Then the command was given : “Let those who 
brought the monk provide themselves with arms and lead 
him forth to the fire/’ 

Forthwith, the faithful, patient man of God was 
tightly bound and then driven out east of Heide where 
the fire was already lighted. 

When they passed by Liitjenheide a woman was 
standing at her door and when she saw the pitiful spec- 
tacle, she wept bitterly. But Henry von Zütphen com- 
forted her sweetly: “Dear woman, do not weep for me, 
since this is the will of God.” 

Soon they reached the fire where the ill-used man 
sank to the ground from sheer exhaustion. Then the 
governor approached him and pronounced sentence with 
these vtTords: “This miscreant has preached against the 
mother of God, and the Christian faith, for which cause, 
in the stead of my gracious Bishop of Bremen, I sen- 
tence him to death by fire.” 

Henry looked firmly into the speaker’s face and re- 
plied: “I am not guilty of what you charge, neverthe- 
less, The will of God be done !” 

Thereupon he folded his hands and said the creed, 
then raised his eyes to heaven and prayed : “Father for- 
give them, for they know not what they do ! Thy name 
alone is holy, heavenly Father.” 

35 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


But not altogether friendless was he to start out on 
his last journey. While he sat there, a disturbance was 
noticed among the assembled multitude and a woman 
made her way through the crowd. It was Wiebge Junge. 
No sooner had she heard what had occurred than she 
locked her house and hastened after her friend. Nicho- 
las Boje would have liked to do the same, but he lay at 
home bruised, sick and miserable. And so, brave Wiebge 
Junge went her way alone. When she saw the evil 
plight in which Henry sat there, and how patiently he 
bore his sufferings, her heart burned with pain and with 
eager longing to save him even yet. She went to his 
side and boldly facing the mob, cried out : “What do you 
mean? What are you doing? It was I who called him. 
I brought him into the country. Strike me, beat me, 
yea, and I will pay a thousand dollars beside, if you will 
let the man go free only till next Monday, that the whole 
land may hear his case and sentence him !” 

How soothing these words were to the prisoner! 
He took it that the Lord wished to give him this comfort 
on his last journey, and praised Him for it. But when 
he would have thanked Wiebge Junge for her words, 
she was gone from him. The mob had thrust her away. 

Then began his martyrdom. Over that scene so 
terrible we draw a veil. 

Wiebge Junge no longer looked back. Overcome 
with sorrow, and sobbing convulsively she went her way. 

36 


''A Good and Faithful Servant** (1^21). 


Then a hand was laid on her arm, and when she looked 
up frightened, she saw Andrew. 

“Are the Hemmlings also in it when there is a 
burning at the stake ?’’ asked she with sharp bitterness. 
Then she was silent, for she saw with wonder that the 
young man looked quite otherwise than in former days. 
His expression was no longer gloomy and ill-humored, 
even though deep sorrow was delineated in his features. 

“What are you doing here?” she continued, more 
kindly. 

“I wanted to revel in the sight of a cowardly heretic, 
and found instead a brave man of God, who has only 
words of goodness and pardon for his enemies,” replied 
Andrew, with choking voice. “O, Wiebge Junge, how 
I loathe the actions of the inhuman multitude, and how 
my heart is drawn to this man who pr^ys for his 
enemies !” 

“Will you not go home with me, Andrew?” 

“No, not yet, I will look upon his sufferings to the 
last, dreadful as they are to see; there is something so 
divine in his way of bearing them.” 

“Will you come and bring me tidings this evening?” 

“Yes, I will come.” 

“May the Almighty grant that this good man be 
soon released and received into everlasting glory,” said 
Wiebge Junge, hastening on with stifled sobs. 

37 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


But Andrew returned and pressed into the crowd, 
that he might see Henry’s martyrdom to the end. 

It was in the evening of the same day. In profound 
grief Wiebge Junge sat before the fire and with a shud- 
der thought of the flames devouring that beloved friend. 
But at last her soul grew calm, as she reflected that his 
sufferings were ended and he had gained the crown of 
eternal life. Returning from Heide, she had gone to 
Nicholas Boje’s, who was confined to his study, seriously 
injured. All hope of rescue gone, they mourned together, 
and afterwards knelt down and out of the depths 
cried unto the Lord. Now she had been waiting some 
time for Andrew. At last quick steps approached, and 
the young man whom she was expecting entered. Wiebge 
Junge looked searchingly into his pale, sad face, then 
she drew a seat for him beside her own, threw wood 
upon the coals, and as he continued to sit silent and 
motionless, she laid her hand upon his arm and asked, 
hesitatingly, “Andrew, was it very bad?” 

“O, so terrible, so inexpressibly terrible! I cannot 
talk about it.” Tears ran down the strong man’s cheeks. 

Wiebge Junge wept softly. At length she spoke 
again. “And what of him, Andrew?” 

“He stood firm. Nothing could frighten him. 
Under torture and derision he witnessed a good con- 
fession. O, such a man, Wiebge Junge! A doctrine 
which gives such happiness and strength must be the 

38 


''A Good and Faithful Servant^' (1521). 


rigfit one. I am conquered and shall seek and cling 
to it.’’ 

There was a flash of joy in the eyes of the woman, 
wearied with so much weeping, and she replied joyously, 
“Then are you the first fruits of his death, and we will 
praise God who has thus ever blessed the martyr’s blood 
and made it the seed of the Church.” 

Again the two were silent, lost in sorrowful thoughts. 
At last Wiebge Junge said, “Andrew, you must tell me; 
did the fire blaze up quickly?” 

He shook his head. “No, it did not want to burn. 
Then John of Neunkirchen with a hammer struck him 
on the breast a blow that stilled the heart. God be 
praised, that he was thus freed from unspeakable 
torture.” 

Again there was silence between them, they had not 
heard a soft knocking. Now the door opened and Greta 
appeared there, but stopped in dismay when she saw 
Andrew sitting by the fire. But he arose, went toward 
her and clasped her hand with a warm pressure. “Greta, 
I am one of yours, Henry von Ziitphen has conquered 
me. I shall learn to become what he was. And you, — 
you will help me?” 

A deep blush suffused the sweet face of the girl. 
She looked up into her lover’s beaming eyes and answered, 
“Andrew, you know that I will. May God help us in 
our great weakness!” 


39 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


Then he put his arm around her, and both went 
towards Wiebge Junge, who said earnestly, “Children, 
joy and sorrow have come so close together that one 
scarcely knows her own feelings. But may the Almighty 
bless you!” Then suddenly recalling the true situation, 
she asked, “Andrew, what will your parents say?” 

“My parents too think otherwise today than here* 
tofore; they have at least gone so far that they will 
hinder us in nothing. My father was at Heide also 
today.” 

Wiebge Junge clasped the girl in her arms, then 
all three sat down before the fire. Andrew did not 
release his sweetheart’s hand. They spoke but little, 
their hearts were too full of mingled feelings. 

At length the young man arose. “Come, Greta, we 
will go home. It is your home too, now, to which we 
go.” 

“Yes,” interrupted Wiebge Junge, “your earthly 
home I but do not forget that there is an everlasting habi- 
tation !” 

“No, godmother, it has always encouraged and com- 
forted me : Tn My Father’s house are many mansions.’ ” 

“Many mansions,” repeated Wiebge Junge; “yes, 
and our dear friend Henry is now in one of them, and it 
must be well with him there after all that he suffered 
here. God be praised forever and ever I” 

40 


''A Good mid Faithful Servanf* (1^21). 


“Amen,” said the two young people, as they went 
out into the starlight splendor of the clear winter’s 
night. 

The memory of Henry von Zütphen, the faithful 
witness, has lived throughout the centuries. In the year 
1824 the field where his torture and death occurred, was 
consecrated as a burying ground, and a monument was 
erected there to his memory. Since 1847 name has 
been in the Schleswig-Holstein calendar under the date 
December loth. This is all beautiful and praiseworthy, 
but more glorious than all is the fact that his name is 
written in heaven, that he is clothed in white raiment, 
and that he carries the palm-branch which the Savior 
Himself placed in his hand after he had proved himself 
a witness “faithful unto death.” 



41 


“Tear Cfteu net, for 1 am Ulltft Cbee.” 


( 1524 ) 

It was in the beginning of the year 1524. Not far 
from the little town of Kenzingen, in Breisgau, there 
lived a rich Austrian gentleman (for since 1367 the 
country had belonged to Austria), who had a number of 
large estates and who lived a life of careless ease. 

The case was different with his faithful accountant, 
Berthold Amsteg, who had for a number of years been 
in his employ, and who in godly contentment ate his 
scanty bread. The latter had once had ambitious plans 
for his life, and had made considerable progress in his 
course of study. But there had occurred that which was 
to give his life an entirely different direction. This was 
the blowing of the new spiritual currents from Witten- 
berg. 

At first, like many others he had been frightened by 
the agitation that stirred the religious life of the times, 
but he soon opened his heart to the new teaching and 
welcomed it with joy. A few years before he had 
brought into his home a young bride, and her heart too 
had hailed release from spiritual fetters. 

But it seemed to them necessary to keep their faith 
secret. The young accountant’s master, strict man that 
he was, was of the opposite persuasion, and required 

42 


‘'Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee” (1524). 


that all who were in his employ should be of his own 
faith. The question had often arisen in Berthold Am- 
steg’s mind whether it was right for him thus to re- 
frain from a public confession of his belief, but a look 
at his dear wife and his little three year old daughter 
had always silenced him. What would become of them 
if he should lose his place and living? To be sure, he 
trusted in God, but he was not yet a hero of the faith. 
Trial had first to do its work before he could become 
such. 

It was on the feast-day of the Three Kings, and 
Berthold sat with his wife Rosanna by the great chim- 
ney-place where blazed the fire of knotty fir wood. In 
the next room lay their little Sabina, sleeping the sound 
sleep of innocent childhood. The mother was spinning 
by the bright light of the fire, and Amsteg sat looking 
thoughtfully into the glowing hearth. 

“What are you thinking about, my dear?” asked 
his wife, and the look which she turned upon him as 
she spoke was one full of the tenderest affection. 

The man sighed deeply, and for a moment made no 
reply. Then he said: “I was just thinking of all the 
great plans with which I began life, and how they have 
remained unrealized.” 

“All the threads of our life are in the hand of the 
Lord. Remember, my dear, — 'not a sparrow falleth 
without His notice’.” 


43 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


“Yes, I have that comfort ; I would count no sacri- 
fice too great for the peace which the new teaching has 
brought to me. But now and then I find myself griev- 
ing a little to think that Rosanna Amsteg must put up 
with a living so poor that it is often a problem how to 
make ends meet.” 

“Berthold,” she exclaimed reproachfully, “have I 
ever been dissatisfied or discouraged ?” 

“Neither, my dear.” 

“Then do not pain me with such words.” 

Lovingly Berthold Amsteg embraced his brave wife, 
whose eyes shone as they looked into his. 

“Berthold,” she said, “I feel happy enough to sing. 
Can’t we try one of our nice hymns?” 

“Which one?” 

“There has been running through my mind all day 
the tune, — 


“Come, Holy Spirit, God and Lord.” 

“Yes, I like that one, too,” said Berthold; and in 
sweet, clear tones they both began to sing. The hus- 
band presently took the bass. The singing gathered con- 
fidence as it went along, until when the last stanza was 
reached, the little room fairly rang with the joyful 
melody : 


44 


''Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee” (1524). 


‘‘Lord, make us ready with Thy powers; 

Strengthen the flesh in weaker hours, 

That as good warriors we may force 
Through life and death to Thee our course !” 

It was the next day, and the morning was well 
along. The accountant was in the room set apart for 
his work in the manor-house, and was busy. He was 
writing and figuring, making an entry first here and then 
there, and was so engrossed in his work that he did not 
hear a small side door open and his employer enter. 
For a moment the latter watched him, then clearing his 
throat, he approached and spoke: 

“Amsteg, who was it singing in your cottage last 
night?’’ 

For an instant the one addressed was startled. 
Then looking his questioner straight in the face, he re- 
plied: “My wife and I.” 

“Indeed? And yet you know, do you not, that I 
will not have in my employ any persons who are given 
to singing heretical songs?” 

“Yes, I am aware of that, sir, but — ” 

“Just hush. I know exactly what you are going 
to say. I am familiar with the way dissenters talk, and 
I have long been of the secret opinion that you and your 
wife were leaving the true Church. Had you not been 
so useful to me, you would have long since received your 
walking papers. But to-day I want to tell you, you are 

45 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


dismissed. We have nothing further to do with each 
other.’’ 

Berthold Amsteg opened his mouth to reply, but his 
employer abruptly checked him, and turning, left the 
room. Once more, however, he came back. 

“You understand,” he said, “I might make a deal 
of trouble for you, but I don’t wish to have any stir 
over the matter. You have been paid your salary to the 
end of the year, but here is a little something extra.” 
He laid a gold piece upon the table and went away. 

The first impulse of the accountant was to throw 
the coin at the feet of the hard-hearted man, but he 
mastered his feelings. Did he not profess to have a 
small and humble opinion of himself ? — Then why might 
not the Lord mean him to accept this alms? Had He 
not said, “Before they, call will I hear them,” and might 
this not be a provision against untold need? Slowly 
he pocketed the money, straightened up his books, and 
put his desk in order for his successor. Then he leaned 
his head upon his hands, for his heart grew heavy within 
him as he thought of his wife and child. Where could 
he go? 

Not long, however, was he oppressed with such 
anxious questions and forebodings, for like a ray of light 
there came into his heart the words of yesterday’s hymn : 

“Lord, make us ready with Thy powers. 

Strengthen the flesh in weaker hours.” 

46 


^‘Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee’^ (1524) 


‘The Lord will provide,” said Amsteg to himself, 
and buttoning his little shoulder cape about him, he 
went out strengthened and comforted. 

His entrance at home at such an unaccustomed hour 
told his wife everything. She came toward him, and 
taking his benumbed hands in hers, said : 

“Berthold, we are homeless.” 

“Yes, my darling, but the Lord will prepare us a 
place where we may lay our heads. He kissed her ten- 
derly, and the two stood grief-stricken and silent. They 
had been so happy in their little home. 

At last Rosanna looked up at her husband and 
asked: “When must we go?” 

He hesitated to reply. He shrank from no suffering 
for himself, but how hard for her, who had been reared 
in comfort, would be the deprivation and need which had 
overtaken them. 

As he stood there, silent, the firm tones of his wife’s 
voice fell upon his ear: “I know, my dear; we must 
go to-day.” 

“Yes,” he replied. “Are you afraid, Rosanna?” 

“Afraid?” She looked up at him with eyes that 
were serious enough, but with no shadow of fear in them. 
“Afraid? I would be, and with reason, did I not know 
the promise: ‘Fear thou not, for I am with thee’.” 

They sat down by the table to consider where they 
could go. Rosanna’s parents had been well to do, but 

47 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


upon their death, some three years before, it developed 
that they had suffered heavy losses, and they left nothing 
in the way of earthly goods. 

*‘Let us go to Auntie Salome’s,’' said Rosanna, 
finally. 

“To Aunt Salome’s?” exclaimed Berthold, in sur- 
prise. “Have you forgotten that scarcely two years ago 
she forbade the house to her only grandson because he 
was an advocate of the new faith?” 

“Two years is a long time, and it may be that this 
very experience has caused her to know more about our 
belief. We must try her, Berthold. Kenzingen is only 
a two hours’ walk, and if she will not receive us, we will 
find some one kind enough to take us in. Auntie has her 
own house, and she can easily spare us the small room 
which we would need. The landlord, heartless as he is, 
will doubtless see that our few things here are sent to 
us.” 

While they were talking, little Sabina came in. She 
went and leaned her yellow curls against her father and 
asked, “Is it a holiday, papa ?” 

“For me, yes, little one. We are going to Kenzingen 
yet to-day.” 

“To town, papa? O, goody! Miss Lizzie told me 
that the windows there hang full of sausages and cookies, 
and people may just go in and get them, if they have 
money.” 


48 


^‘Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee” (1524). 


Clapping her hands in glee, the child went dancing 
about the little room, singing, “To Kenzingen ! To Ken- 
zingen !” 

In spite of their sadness, her parents had to smile, 
and Berthold taking his wife’s hand in his, said, “Yes 
the little ones know how to take it, Rosanna. They clap 
their hands at trouble, and shout praises to God.” 

In silence they began to get their things together, 
packing the m.ost important into two bundles, to be 
carried with them. That last little noonday meal was 
watered with secret tears, and when it had been eaten 
they were ready to start. Rosanna had up to this time 
kept up courage, but as she crossed the threshold and 
left behind all that which had been so dear and precious 
to her, she could no longer control her grief. She cov- 
ered her face with her hands and sobbed aloud. 

Little Sabina looked up at her in wonder, but her 
husband, taking her gently by the hand, said : 

“Fear thou not, for I am with thee.” 

Sadly she wiped her eyes, and with hearts uplifted 
to God they left and went their way. 

It was already growing dusk when they reached 
Kenzingen, and a few moments later they found them- 
selves standing in front of the rather high, narrow house 
which belonged to Aunt Salome. Here and there in the 
upper stories light showed from the windows. Below, 
however, where Aunt Salome herself lived, the shutters. 

4 49 


For the Sake of the Faith, 


were already closed. As a child Rosanna had often 
visited her aunt, and she expected to find her an ill- 
tempered and harsh-featured old lady. With many a 
heart-throb, therefore, the homeless little group entered, 
and passing through the vestibule, knocked on the door 
of the living room. 

“Come in,” said a voice that was by no means un- 
friendly. 

Entering, they found themselves standing in a blaze 
of light from the great wood fire that burned in the wide 
chimney-place. 

The old aunt was sitting on a brown wooden stool 
spinning. She looked up without speaking, then rising 
and coming nearer, she cried out: “Rosanna! and you 
too, Berthold! Is it weal or woe that brings you to 
auntie’s house?” 

“It is woe, dear auntie,” replied Rosanna; “but we 
are seeking a stopping place for only a little while, be- 
cause the winter is hard and we cannot go about the 
country with our little one.” 

“But I thought you had employment, and were get- 
ting along.” 

“Yes, until now,” said Berthold, “but my em- 
ployer has discharged me because we acknowledged our- 
selves followers of the new teaching.” 

“Is that so ? And you expect me to harbor heretics ?” 

50 


''Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee’* (1524). 


“We knew that you clung to the old faith, dear 
auntie,’^ answered Rosanna ; “but we knew too that you 
would not turn your own flesh and blood out into the 
cold of winter; and it is only for a little time that we 
would share your hospitality/' 

“If I thought now as I did but a little while back, 
I would certainly have closed my door against you; but 
I too have had my eyes opened to see the grace of God 
that has been offered to all the world. I am trying 
earnestly to learn more about Luther’s doctrine, and I am 
convinced that it is nothing but good and that he is right.” 

With a cry of joy the young woman threw her arms 
around the old lady’s neck, while Berthold folded his 
hands. As for little Sabina, time was growing long for 
her. She plucked at Auntie’s dress. 

“Auntie, where are the cookies and sausages that 
they said hung in the windows in Kenzingen ?” 

They all smiled, and Rosanna explained the reason 
for the child’s question. 

“You shall see them to-morrow, little one,” said 
Auntie Salome, comfortingly; “and you shall have some 
pennies too, that you may go in and buy.” Then she 
added, “I am sure we will be good friends, because I 
love children.” 

This was spoken with a sigh, and a cloud rested upon 
her face. She turned away, and began to set out some- 
thing for the refreshment of the travelers. 

51 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


Afterward, when the little maid was quietly sleep- 
ing, the mother and father sat for a long time with Auntie 
Salome by the fire. Rosanna could not but look at the 
latter. What had become of that harsh face? Her 
countenance had a gentle, kindly expression, and a pair 
of bright eyes looked out from under the white brows. 
They had decided among themselves that they would all 
stay together until Lent. Possibly Berthold might find 
work in the meantime, but if not, he would then go 
further in search of employment and a livelihood. Their 
Auntie had a comfortable little room which she would 
empty for them. 

When everything had been settled, and the three 
were sitting there in silence, Rosanna laid her hand upon 
the old lady’s arm and asked, hesitatingly : “Auntie, dear, 
won’t you tell us how matters stand between you and 
Andrew ?” 

The one addressed looked down at the floor. Her 
face betrayed the pain she felt, and it was with an effort 
that she kept back the tears. In a trembling voice she 
replied : 

“We parted in anger. He was inflexible in his 
Lutheran faith, and I did him wrong. I threatened to 
prosecute him, to bring him before the church authorities, 
and much else. Of course I would never have done it. 
But he was my only grandson, and fearing that he was 

52 


''Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee” (1524). 


going to spiritual destruction, I wanted to frighten him. 
But he stood firm, and only said : 

" ‘If you think, grandmother, that I am bringing 
disgrace upon you, I will go away’/’ 

“ ‘Go,’ I replied, harshly, — but I had no idea that he 
would do so. Nevertheless, one morning he was gone. 
He left a kindly message for me with Mrs. Weisenberger, 
who was helping me in the house, and gave her a little 
note, reading, — but wait. I’d rather you should see it 
for yourselves.” 

She drew from her dress a little leather pouch, and 
took out of it a slip of paper, upon which was written: 

Dear Grandmother: For you this verse — “The blood of 
Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin;” and for me — 
“Fear thou not, for I am with thee.” Let your heart be at peace, 
— if you shall call me back I will come. 

Berthold Amsteg read the lines, handed them back 
to Auntie and said, “Have you sent for him?” 

She shook her head. 

“A hundred times have I been on the point of doing 
so, but always put it off. I wanted to be clearer in my 
own mind, and besides — why should I call him back 
here, since no one knows how long it will be safe here 
for protestants ?” 

“Do you have any idea that hatred and persecution 
will reach this far?” 


53 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


“Yes, my dear Berthold, it may not be at once, but 
the enemies of the new teaching are active everywhere/' 

“Fear thou not, for I am with thee," said Berthold 
softly. Then Rosanna asked, “Do you know where 
Andrew is ?" 

“To be sure. He went to Strasburg, where Mat- 
thew Zell is located, who since 1518 has been the preacher 
at the Cathedral of St. Lawrence. He is the right kind 
of a preacher and pastor, too, one of Luther’s kind. His 
care for the forsaken and the persecuted is like that of a 
father. He was married within the past year, and his 
wife is just as good, brave, and sensible as he is. They 
are a kind-hearted pair. During Advent there was a 
peddler here who had been all over the country with his 
trinkets, and had also been in Strasburg. When I asked 
him about the condition of things there, he began at 
once to sing the praises of Matthew Zell and his wife 
Catharine, and to tell what a blessing they were to the 
city. It made me glad. They will see that Andrew is 
not in need, don’t you think?" 

“You may rest easy. Auntie. The fame of that 
worthy man and his faithful wife has gone out over all 
the land, and on account of them Strasburg has become a 
shining light for the distressed and the outcast." 

“Have you never sent any word to him. Auntie?" 


54 


*'Fear Thou Noty for I am With Thee'' (1524). 


“No, how could I? I myself cannot write, and be- 
sides — well, I did not always think as I do now, but 
held a little spite against Andrew/' 

“To-morrow, I am going to dispatch a letter to him, 
and—" 

“Yes, yes, do so; O, that will ease my heart, for I 
have long repented my course toward him. But how will 
a letter find him in that large city ?" 

“Let us send it in care of Mrs. Catharine Zell. 
She will search him out." 

It had been a long time since Auntie Salome slept 
as peacefully as she did that night; and she awoke 
happy, for her dreams had been of her dear Andrew. 
Now he would soon know that she was not angry with 
him, but bore him the same love as of old. 

Two days after this the scanty furniture of the little 
family was brought in front of Aunt Salome’s house, and 
the little room in the third story was comfortably fitted 
up. Berthold Amsteg began to look for work, but be- 
fore he found any, God’s hand intervened to steer the 
bark of his life into other waters. 

It might have been a week or more since the exiles 
had been taken in by Aunt Salome. There had been a 
thaw, and while as a rule, January does not relax, but 
keeps a grim face, nevertheless at this time the weather 
sunny and the air soft. 

55 


was 


For the Sake of the Faith, 


Rosanna had gone with little Sabina for a walk 
through the town. They had seen the cookies and the 
sausages, and the child had some of each in the little 
basket on her arm. She prattled along at her mother’s 
side, and the latter was pleased to think how well she 
seemed to like her new surroundings. 

It was already growing dark when they reached the 
house, and the entire group seated themselves by the 
hearth. The father brought a copy of the New Testa- 
ment from the large wall cupboard, and said: ‘‘Let us 
gather a little manna. I feel a longing for it, and be- 
sides my heart is heavy on account of the things I heard 
whispered about town to-day. The Catholics don’t pro- 
pose to stand forever idle. We are a thorn in the flesh' 
to them.” 

Before either of the women could make any reply, 
there was a knock at the door, and in came the worthy 
Mr. Äschert, a brass founder. He was one of Aunt 
Salome’s good friends and neighbors, and was accus- 
tomed frequently to drop in for an hour after supper to 
chat with her. 

This evening his face, usually so pleasant, bore a 
serious look, and after a few words of greeting he spoke. 

“It is an important matter that brings me here. I 
have found out that evil is in store for us who hold to 
the new faith; they mean to drive us out of the town, 
and that very soon.” 


56 


'‘Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee” (1^24). 


The two women turned a frightened look on the 
speaker, who continued, addressing Berthold : 

“You and your wife have been marked among those 
who must go. You, Mrs. Berg, may be permitted to re- 
main, — I will find out about that later/' 

“And you, Mr. Äschert?" 

“I too, must go, and I thank God that He counts 
me worthy to confess His name. I have neither wife 
nor child, which will make it easier for me, — although — 
well — Kenzingen means home to me/' 

His voice trembled, and he drew his coat sleeve 
across his eyes. 

Little Sabina had been watching him anxiously, and 
now taking her mother’s hand, she said : “Mamma, must 
we go away again ? I like it here so much.” 

“I too, my little one ; but the dear Lord Jesus sends 
us forth.” 

“And will we be poor again, like we were ?” 

“Yes, and it may be much poorer.” 

“Mamma, I don’t like it at all,” and crying, she 
buried her head in the folds of her mother’s dress. 

“Sabina, dear,” said her mother, “why should you 
be so troubled over it? Remember how poor our Savior 
once was, and that He had only hay and straw for His 
bed.” 


57 


For the Sake of the Faith, 


The child dried her eyes and said, “That was hard, 
mamma, wasn’t it? And I worried my share about it, 
too, at Christmas time.” 

“You don’t need to worry, you darling; He did it 
freely, for our sakes, and for yours. But now that it 
is our turn, we ought to be willing to suffer a little for 
Him, — but you cannot understand it now, any more than 
a little birdling in the nest. You’ll know better when 
you are older.” 

Sadly the child’s large eyes looked from one to the 
other of her elders. Then her cookie occurred to her, 
and in eating it she found comfort. 

Mr. Äschert, however, talked yet a long time with 
Berthold and the women. They had better get every- 
thing ready for leave-taking was his final advice. When 
he was ready to go, he turned once more to Auntie 
Salome, and asked: “You have made up your mind, 
have you, that you will be one with us and acknowledge 
yourself a follower of the new doctrine?” 

“Yes, my good friend ; you may count on me.” 

After the brass-founder had gone, the three sat 
down together in silence for a little while. Then 
Berthold, folding his hands as in prayer, repeated the 
twenty-third Psalm, and with new courage in their hearts 
they bade each other good night and sought their rest. 

Very early the next morning, when it was yet half 
dark, and while Auntie Salome and her guests were sit- 

58 


‘‘Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee^* (1^24). 


ting at the table eating their simple breakfast of gruel, 
there arose a commotion in the street. Little Sabina 
sprang to the window and exclaimed : 

“Look, mamma, soldiers ! and listen to the drums, 
and Oh ! they’re coming in here ! What fun ! How gay 
and pretty they look !” 

By this time the door had been forced open and three 
Austrian soldiers stood glaring in on them. 

“Widow Salome Berg, you are accused of having to 
do with heretics, of harboring them and giving them aid.” 

For an instant fear overcame the one addressed, then 
recovering herself, she said in a firm tone : 

“I myself belong with them.” 

The soldiers looked at her in astonishment. Then 
the leader commanded, harshly : “Then prepare yourself. 
In one hour you must put the gates of the city behind 
you, you and your fine guests.” 

A wonderful sense of joy came over the three friends, 
and all their fears disappeared. Each felt the presence 
of the Master for whose sake they were about to suffer, 
and like a note of triumph, fell from Berthold’s lips the 
words: “Fear thou not, for I am with thee.” 

Only a short respite was allowed the faithful band, 
but their preparations were soon made, for there was but 
little they could take with them. Such money and valu- 
ables as they possessed they tied up in small bundles, 
and a few of the most necessary household utensils, to- 

59 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


gather with bedding and clothing, were loaded on a num- 
ber of wagons, which carried also the smaller children 
and the sick. By the time it was fully light the whole 
company, a hundred and fifty in number, were at the 
gate, ready to shake the dust of the city from their feet. 
The soldiers once more came, and amid sport and ridicule, 
mustered the motley procession, which thereupon began 
slowly to move. 

O As the march began the grief of many broke over 
all bounds, and they lifted up their voices and wept. 
It was not that they repented their fate. They would 
hold fast to the pure doctrine, but it was so hard to leave 
their happy homes behind them, and to set their faces 
toward exile and untold misery. Misery? No, for the 
decision was unanimous to make their way to Strasburg, 
where they knew that blessed woman, Catharine Zell, 
would find for them a refuge. 

Mr. Äschert was walking beside Berthold, and when 
the weeping grew louder, he appealed to him to sing. 
‘'Start a hymn,” he said; “that will lighten all our sad 
hearts; let us have — 

“ ‘Had God that time not been with us*.” 

Yes, that was the way to quell the rising clamor of 
grief, and Berthold Amsteg began, happily: 

60 


‘'Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee'' (1524). 


Had God that time not been with us, 

Thus Israel did say. 

Had God that time not been with us, 

We must have felt dismay. 

We were indeed so small a band, 

Beset by foes on every hand. 

By all that host despised. 

On us they poured their wicked wrath; 

Had God their will allowed, 

They would have smote us from their path, 

Our necks they would have bowed. 

We might have died as in a flood. 

They might have shed much precious blood. 

Had God forgot His children. 

But praise to Him who would not let 
His children meanly perish. 

Like as a bird escaped the net 
Our souls full freedom cherish. 

The bond is broke, and we are free. 

The Lord has giv’n the victory. 

The Lord of earth and heaven ! Amen. 

One after another joined in the singing, and forth- 
with their tears were forgotten. Yes, and so should it 
ever be ; the shout of praise, “The bond is broke and we 
are free,” should drown all complaining over the loss of 
earthly things. 

As the company wended their way slowly onward, 
Berthold dispatched a fleet young messenger ahead, to 

61 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


notify Catharine Zell to have refuge and entertainment 
prepared when the pilgrims arrived, which would be in 
the course of two or three days. 

It was at twilight the next evening, and Catharine 
Zell was sitting in her room resting from her labors. 
She was about tired out, but the Lord ever gave her 
renewed strength to serve Him in ministering to the poor, 
the oppressed and the persecuted. A small fire burned 
upon the hearth; its glow and warmth comforted her, 
and she closed her eyes, but not to sleep. Her thoughts 
wandered over the past, and she mused upon the gracious 
way in which God had led her, one of His humble hand- 
maids. She saw herself as a little girl in her father’s 
house — he was a carpenter — and remembered how even 
as a child she had loved the Savior ; and she thought of 
the wonderful way in which her path and that of Mat- 
thew Zell had been brought together. She would not 
boast, but this she could say in that hour, that she had 
been to him a faithful helpmeet. As a young wife, she 
had walked in the fear of the Lord, and for His sake, 
and for the sake of her beloved town of Strasburg, she 
had taken up the larger ministry of comfort and aid to 
the needy. Her work of active charity had brought her 
into touch with many of the most eminent and godly men 
of her time, and she had become for her day a shining 
light to all the suffering. And, Ah ! how varied was the 

62 


*^Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee** (1^2^), 


need which those mighty times produced! and not one 
could she send away without comfort and help. She had 
as assistants in her work two honorable widows, named 
Kraft, and the public charity officer, Lux Hackfurt, 
helped her too, else she never could have attended to 
everything. While with a thankful heart she was thus 
meditating upon her life, past and present, there came a 
knock at the door and one of the Krafts came in. 

''What is it, my dear?’" asked Mrs. Zell, kindly; 
"can’t I rest a little longer?” 

"I wish, indeed, you might, for you need strength. 
But there is a messenger here from Kenzingen with a 
letter for you. A case of great need is coming to hand, 
as I learned by questioning him.” 

Mrs. Zell went out, and a few moments later she 
entered her husband’s study. He was busily engaged 
over his books, under the stingy rays of a little lamp. 
As his wife came in he looked up, and saw she had some- 
thing to communicate. 

"Matthew, a hundred and fifty people, driven out of 
Kenzingen for the sake of the faith, will reach here to- 
morrow or the day after, seeking counsel and help.” 

"My good wife can give to them both,” he answered 
with a loving look, "think you not so?” 

"I have many friends, and many a pious soul among 
them will loose his purse-strings. We ourselves can 

63 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


shelter perhaps fifty for a little time, and I will at once 
see to the distribution of the rest. Andrew Berg will 
open his house, too; he has so much more room than he 
needs.” 

“Have you seen him lately ?” 

“Yes, only to-day. The Lord is with that man, my 
dear. He finds everywhere grace among men just as he 
has found it in God’s sight, and is in truth a sensible and 
faithful soul. He stands at the front in bookmaking, his 
only complaint being that he cannot keep up with his 
work.” 

“Who knows how soon help may come to him? Is 
there anything else, Catharine?” 

“No, my dear; pardon me for disturbing you. 
When those poor people get here I will let you know, and 
you will receive them with a few suitable words, will 
you not?” 

“Yes, with all my heart; good-bye, my busy and 
faithful one.” 

Matthew Zell again leaned over his books, and Cath- 
arine went out to make her preparations. Late that same 
evening she summoned Andrew Berg, and told him that 
from his native town a hundred and fifty fugitives were 
coming. 

“O, then I shall hear something from home,” ex- 
claimed the young man, his eyes sparkling. 

64 


''Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee” (1524), 


“Don’t you like it here, Andrew ?” 

“Very much, but home is home, and I shall never 
forget dear old Kenzingen and my grandmother. May I 
ask for some of the guests? You know I have been 
blessed with a large house.” 

“Of course, Andrew ; I’ll send you word as soon as 
they get here, and you shall come and pick them out. It 
may be you will find some friends among them.” 

Andrew sighed. Ah, that one, to whom his heart 
clung, she who had taken him as an orphan and with a 
love past expression had cared for and reared him, — 
she at all events would not be with them. 

“Why do you sigh, Andrew? Rejoice rather, and 
be glad, for it is a great thing thus to forsake home and 
country for the sake of the Lord Jesus. It seems to me 
that we may say concerning such a wonder, ‘And we be- 
held His glory,’ — for what greater thing could be expected 
from such poor and dismayed creatures, fleeing the cross, 
as we all by nature do? Don’t worry, Andrew. It is 
the Master himself who is coming to be our guest, and 
we will shelter Him.” > 

As Catharine Zell sat the next day with her husband 
at their frugal meal, she said, happily : “Matthew, every- 
thing is prepared ; entertainment has been found for all, 
and the Krafts are busy in the kitchen cooking soup and 
cutting bread, for I think our guests will soon be here.”^ 
5 65 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


“God grant it, for I believe it is going to snow, 
and that would make it hard traveling, especially for the 
children/' 

At that very moment there was a noise and com- 
motion out in the street, and hurrying to the window the 
pastor cried, “Catharine, here they are!” He hurried 
out and opened the door, and in came the tired travelers, 
cold and hungry. 

Catharine went towards them. “Welcome, ye chil- 
dren of my Father’s house,” was her greeting, every 
feature expressing good will. “Just come in, all of you, 
big and little! Ah, little girl, you can hardly stand up 
any more; sit down on that stool. And you, too, dear 
4Dld mother, are almost exhausted.” She had turned to 
Auntie Salome, who stood holding little Sabina by the 
-hand. 

Then the two Kraft widows came in, bringing steam- 
ing soup and great slices of bread, which was eaten with 
thankful joy. Catharine went about among them like a 
mother. She would have liked best of all to keep the 
whole hundred and fifty under her own roof, but that 
■was impossible, and as Andrew Berg just then entered 
she said to him : “Now, my dear friend, you may select 
guests for yourself.” 

He threw a swift glance over the company ; then his 
face grew red, and forcing a path for himself through 

66 


'*Fear Thou Not, for I am With Thee” (1524). 


the crowd he stood at his grandmother’s side and took 
the trembling old form in his arms. 

“Grandmother, and you too?” 

“Yes, I too ; a poor exile, but rich in God and re- 
joicing in His light.” 

Andrew rejoiced aloud, still holding the dear grand- 
mother in his arms. For now his ardent prayers had 
been heard, now she had found the true peace, now they 
were reunited. 

“Did you receive my letter, Andrew ?” 

“No, not yet; nor do I care, now that I have you 
yourself.” 

It was some time before Andrew’s joy quieted down, 
but at last he took his dear old grandmother with one 
hand and little Sabina with the other, while Berthold 
Amsteg followed with Rosanna. 

“Send me more lodgers,” he called to Catharine 
Zell; I must take these home first. This day is salva- 
tion come to my house!” 

Auntie Salome walked thither as in a dream. True, 
her old feet were weary, but her heart was as light as 
that of a young girl in springtime. Andrew had a spa- 
cious house, and therefore abundant room for his beloved 
guests, who soon felt themselves at home under his 
roof. 

Employment was soon found, too, for Berthold. He 
worked with Andrew in the book-bindery, and assisted 

67 


For the Sake of the Faith, 


Mrs. Catharine Zell in her labor of love, — for as long 
as she lived she proved herself a mother to all the for- 
saken and wretched and far and near was she known as 
a brave, undaunted heroine in Christ Jesus her Lord. 
With Andrew Berg and his family, to which also Bert- 
hold Amsteg, Rosanna and little Sabine belonged, she 
and her husband continued ever in firm friendship, and 
it was to her a means of new strength, when her joy 
might have faltered or her work like a flood threatened 
to overwhelm her, to have Berthold Amsteg in his sonor- 
ous tones repeat to her his best text : 

“Fear thou not, for I am with thee !” 



68 


“Cow never failetD/' 

( 1552 ) 

It was the year 1552. 

A vast, blue sky stretched over the city of Delft, 
in Holland. Blithe greetings passed from one to another 
on the streets, where all was life and motion ; for it was 
Sunday, and those who could, shook off the dust of 
week-day toil and hastened away for a holiday. 

On one of the canals which traverse the city was 
situated a large, stately mansion, and if a stranger had 
inquired who lived there, every Delft child would have 
been able to answer: “Mynheer Graswinkel.” 

On this Sunday the above-named gentleman was 
standing by the window with his sixteen-year-old son, 
and both were looking out in silence. At last the father 
said: “Give up the boat ride, James, for your mother’s 
sake and mine.” 

“O, father, I have been looking forward to it the 
whole week!” 

“Nevertheless, I wish you to forego it.” 

The boy’s pale face showed gloom and disappoint- 
ment; he pressed his lips together and was silent. At 
this moment the mother entered. She looked at her son 
anxiously, drew near to him, put her arm around his 

69 


For the Sake of the Faith, 


neck and said, affectionately: “James Jansz, do not go 
into a boat to-day !’’ 

“Mother, have you suddenly become superstitious?” 

“No, not superstitious, but a voice within tells me 
that you ought not go. I have thought it over seriously 
and prayerfully, and know that it comes from the Lord. 
He wishes to warn you in this way.” 

A half mocking, half embarassed smile appeared on 
the youth's countenance, then he answered somewhat 
sullenly : 

“I am no child any more, that for such trifling rea- 
sons you may deny me a pleasure that I have once been 
promised.” 

Their parents looked at their son in surprise, then 
the father said: “James, you are our only child, and to- 
day I perceive that our love for you has not been strong 
enough to lead us to bring you up with proper strictness. 
Mother, we have spared the rod too much.” 

Mynheer Graswinkel had never before spoken to his 
son in so severe a tone, and as the latter was well dis- 
posed and devoted to his parents, he was sorry when 
he saw how much he had grieved them. Following his 
better inclination, he embraced his mother and exclaimed : 

“Forgive me, I did not mean to grieve you. It was 
only disagreeable to me to have to tell my friends, whom 
I had asked to make this excursion, that I was not com- 

70 


''Love Never Faileth” (15^2). 


ing. For really, mother, I cannot tell them your rea- 
sons; they would laugh at them.” 

His mother was about to reply, but at that moment 
voices were heard outside and with the swift blood surg- 
ing to his face the son implored : 

“Please, please let me go, only today. I cannot let 
them go without me.” 

Just then two of his friends entered, crying joy- 
fully: “James, the finest weather in the world! Just 
as if made for our boat ride ! Come quickly, the others 
have gone ahead slowly and are expecting us.” 

“May I?” whispered the boy with beseeching look* 

With heavy hearts his parents gave their consent. 

For a long time they stood at the window watching 
him as he hurried away. James waved his hand to them 
once more, and was then lost to view. With a sigh Myn- 
heer Graswinkel turned to his wife. 

“There must be a change, we shall have to retrieve 
what we have neglected.” 

“He is such a good boy, and on the whole there is 
only one thing lacking in him, he is still distant from 
his Lord and Savior.” 

The father nodded silently and the mother con- 
tinued : 

“We must pray for him more zealously; we will 
commend our beloved and only child to Him more fer- 
vently than ever.” 


71 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


While the parents were thus engaged in earnest con- 
versation, Janies Jansz hastened with his friends toward 
the little Schie river. On the way one of them asked 
him: the way, you don’t object to John Blooker’s 

taking his cousin with us, do you ?” ^ 

A flash of joy passed over James’ face, but he forced 
himself to reply, indifferently: ''No, why should I?” 

John Blooker, the son of Mynheer Graswinkel’s 
neighbor, was his friend. John’s young fourteen-year- 
old cousin Gerda, who was an orphan, had lived from 
infancy in the Blooker home, and John as well as James 
loved her dearly. Without knowing it, she exerted a 
great influence over both of them, her gentle manner 
softening their vehemence, and her words often giving 
a decision in their differences of opinion. 

When the three young people arrived at the river, 
John and Gerda were already sitting in the skiff with 
another friend. They sprang in with them, and soon 
the boat was gliding away in the sunlight. 

"Do you like it, Gerda?” asked James. The girl 
had her hand in the water and was enjoying the little fur- 
row it was making. Her cheeks were rosy with pleasure 
and her blue eyes were beaming. At James’ question 
she merely nodded, but he seized her thick blonde braids 
and said, laughingly : ‘T shall hold you to keep you from 
falling into the water.” 


72 


**Love Never FailetN' (1552). 


Joking and chatting they sailed along ; every thought 
of his mother's anxiety had vanished from James’ heart, — 
he was enjoying the present moment. The time passed 
rapidly with the merry crowd, and it was almost with 
dismay that they looked toward the west when one of 
them remarked that the sun was setting and that they 
would have to turn back. The evening breeze was 
blowing cool over the water, and they turned the boat 
towards shore. Before they had reached the bank, how- 
ever, a sudden and awkard stroke of the oars set the 
boat to rocking. Gerda screamed. All saw the danger, 
but in their efforts to avert it they only increased their 
peril. At last the boat went over and for an instant its 
occupants disappeared into the water. There was no help 
near, but the Tittle stream was not so deep at that point 
but that they all might save themselves. John carried 
Gerda, and they soon had the firm ground under their 
feet. In consternation they looked at each other, then a 
horror stricken cry came from Gerda’s lips. 

‘‘James Jansz is not here ! Where is James? O, he 
is drowned !” and crying she covered her face with her 
hands. 

The friends looked on all sides, not a soul was visible ; 
they called anxiously, no one answered. They were 
about to give up in despair, but Gerda implored : “John, 
try one thing more, see if he is not under the overturned 
boat.’^ 


73 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


“That is impossible/’ replied John, “wholly impos- 
sible!” 

“Please, please try it!” 

“But Gerda, if he were there, he would have been 
dead long ago; it is really trouble in vain.” f 

“Nevertheless, John, I cannot leave until you have 
looked.” Again it was the pleading look in the large 
blue eyes that forced the youth to comply with the 
girl’s wish, and at his instigation the friends prepared 
themselves to wade into the water. After much exer- 
tion they succeeded in turning the boat over and their 
joy may be imagined when they found James Jansz still 
alive underneath. With cries of rejoicing they brought 
him to the shore, but he was very pale and silent. Gerda 
had seized his right hand and spoke of the anxiety they 
had suffered on his account, and how glad she was that 
he was still alive; he, however, seemed lost in thought 
and answered only in monosyllables. 

“Are you ill, James Jansz?” she asked him at last, 
greatly troubled. 

“No, Gerda, but I was at death’s door and it has 
affected me deeply.” 

The maiden shrank back with fear : “O James if you 
were no longer with us!” Their eyes met, the one pair 
expressing love and solicitude, the other great serious- 
ness. The young people hastened to the city to change 
their wet clothes. John and Gerda stopped a moment 

74 


**Love Never Faileth” (1552). 


at the Graswinkel door, looking at their friend as he 
mounted the stone steps without giving a backward 
glance, then John said, shaking his head; “What can be 
the matter with him ? I have never seen him like that be- 
fore/' They then entered the Blooker home where they 
were received with joy, for there had been much concern 
felt for their safety. 

James Jansz in the meantime had entered the little 
room which his mother was wont to occupy when she 
was alone. Usually the spinning-wheel was humming, 
but to-day being Sunday, she was seated on her low, 
cane-bottomed chair resting from her labors. 

“James !" cried she in frightened tones, when he 
appeared pale and drenched at the door. 

“Mother, I have been in the jaws of death! God 
showed me eternity, I saw it close before me. But 
with terrible clearness He showed me too, that it was 
high time to turn aside from my evil ways and from 
henceforth you will find me a different son." 

The mother had sprung up and was holding her child 
in her arms. “Praise be to God who saved you! I 
prayed for you the whole time. I knew that you were 
in danger. But now you must change your clothes and 
afterwards you can tell me what happened." 

A little later mother and son were sitting together, 
the latter strengthened and warm but still wearing on his 
pale features an expression of deep seriousness. When 

75 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


at an early hour he had gone to rest, Frau Graswinkel 
remained up alone until her husband came home, whom 
she then told all. 

“The Savior has found him,’' she said in conclusion, 
“let us thank Him !” 

The next morning James Jansz appeared before his 
parents bright and well, but within he had become another 
person. The same seriousness as on the previous day 
lay on his countenance, nor did it disappear again. 

In the evening when he was sitting with his beloved 
mother in her little room, the moonlight falling through 
the round window-panes, he leaned his head against her 
shoulder and said: “Mother, yesterday a barrier arose 
between my past life and the life which I am now going 
to begin.” 

Frau Gras Winkel pressed her son’s hand in silence 
and the latter hesitatingly continued: “Mother, it is 
frightful when the terrors of eternity surround one. 
What would have become of me, if I had gone hence? 
God snatched me as a brand from the fire, and my life 
shall be henceforth consecrated to Him.” 

“Think over the matter earnestly,” replied his mo- 
ther; “it is not so easy a thing to consecrate one’s life 
to God.” 

“I know it, but I know too, that nothing else can 
henceforth bring me peace.” 

76 


*'Love Never Faileth'' (1552). 


“Then may the Almighty bless your decision,” said 
Frau Graswinkel solemnly as she kissed her son’s fore- 
head; she well knew what such a resolution meant with 
him. 

His father set him a time of probation in which he 
was to examine himself as to whether he would change his 
mind, or would abide by his resolution courageously to 
renounce the joys of this world; but at the end he re- 
mained firm. His friend John, too, implored him not 
to turn away from him ; but he bravely resisted his plead- 
ings. Gerda sat beside him in the little garden and 
begged him : “Do not leave me, James ! Indeed, indeed, 
I cannot bear it!” He took her hand and without hesi- 
tation replied: “It must be, Gerda; it is the only way 
for me to find peace. I shall remain your friend, ready 
to help and advise you as long as I live.” His voice 
trembled a little, but for the Lord’s sake he was able to 
endure giving her up also, this maiden, who, as he now 
realized, had become very dear to him. 

And so his parents no longer opposed his wish. They 
vacated a little apartment for him in the rear of their 
house, where he was to live alone. In this he had noth- 
ing but a chair and a stool. The former served him as 
a place of rest at night and the latter he offered to his 
visitors. He ate nothing but dry bread and cheese and 
drank nothing but milk. The first time that his mother 
surprised him at this meal, tears came to her eyes and 

77 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


she exclaimed: “O my son, how different did I once 
think that your life would be!” 

^'Mother, only after the manner of the world,” he 
answered. “For my soul you cannot have imagined a 
greater satisfaction. I am quite happy and contented; 
ask the people out yonder if any of them can say the 
same of themselves.” 

James Jansz took pains to learn all he could about 
medicine, and he planted his little garden-plot with heal- 
ing herbs; only in one corner stood a low bench, where 
he often sat either alone or with a friend, meditating or 
talking about heavenly things. 

. Years passed, but no change occurred in James 
Jansz Graswinkel’s life, and in Delft they had gradually 
grown accustomed to see “the wonderful man” walking 
through the streets. Not in the day time but when the 
dusk of the evening came, he visited the poor and sick 
in the city. His income, which was quite large, he 
spent in alleviating the sufferings of others. The poor 
were his friends, his children and his lambs as he called 
them. But whosoever beside asked comfort and encour- 
agement from him, found both, for, he was continually 
drawing from the rich and inexhaustible source of God’s 
Word. 

Gerda often sat in his bare little room or beside him 
on the narrow bench. He still loved her, but only for 
her gentle and open soul ; he had long ago conquered the 

78 


‘'Love Never Faileth” (1552). 


pain which her blue eyes had caused him. He had be- 
come her guide to heaven, and she relied on him with 
unbounded faith. 

Gerda’s twenty-first birthday had come. James Jansz 
had remembered her particularly in his prayers. Toward 
evening she came to him in his unadorned room and sat 
down on the stool beside him. The window was open 
and the balmy air of spring blew in softly, the sparrows 
twittered on the roof and in the little garden the young 
green was sprouting. ^ 

“James,’' she began, after she had been silent for 
some time, “I must tell you something.” Her listener 
looked at her searchingly; she blushed deeply and with 
down-cast eyes she whispered: “John asked me for my 
hand to-day — advise me, shall I say yes?” 

For a moment a shadow appeared on James’ face, 
then he asked with a firm voice: “Gerda, will he walk 
with you on the road to heaven? Will he help you to 
keep steadfast?” 

“You know him, he has a good heart,” answered the 
maiden, hesitatingly. 

“Yes a good heart — and a light mind.” 

“Perhaps I should be a help to him.” 

“Do not give him your hand depending on that,” 
said James Jansz very earnestly. “It is not for the wife 
to be a prop for her husband, but he for her. I have 
seen and experienced it a hundred times that the wife’s 

79 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


influence is not great enough to alter the husband’s way 
of thinking, and then the indissoluble bonds of matri- 
mony become heavy fetters.” 

Gerda had become very pale; she sat before her 
friend with folded hands, when suddenly he asked : “Do 
you love him?” 

His eyes were fixed penetratingly upon the maiden’s 
lovely face. She met his look frankly and answered: 
“James Jansz, his parents have heaped benefits upon me 
from my youth up, and he has been my good comrade 
as long as I can remember. You know, I am quite alone 
in the world, and — yes — I love him with my whole 
heart.” 

She said the last with faltering voice ; but her friend 
could not acquiesce gladly as she had perhaps expected, 
he rose without a word, fetched his New Testament and 
opened it at the first epistle to the Corinthians. 

“Read !” 

It was the 13th chapter, and he pointed to the words : 
“Love suffereth long, and is kind ; love envieth not,” and 
so on, until he read with a loud voice: “It beareth all 
things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all 
things.” Then he closed the book and both remained 
silent a long time, until Gerda arose, saying: “Ah, James 
Jansz, I often think I should like to live as you do. 
Nothing can disturb you, and you are earning your hea- 
venly reward.” 


80 


''Love Never FailetN' (1552). 


‘'Gerda/' he interrupted her quickly, “how little you 
understand my life ! How can we sinners who cannot 
pay our own debts, deserve heaven? I have learned to 
make my lament to God with David: ‘Lord, who can 
understand his errors ? Cleanse thou me from secret 
faults !’ But I believe that Christ’s deserts are my deserts, 
and I hope to reach heaven through Him, who is the 
way, the truth and the life.”* 

Full of veneration, the maiden looked up at her 
friend ; yes, he had overcome the world, but she still loved 
it with its joys and promises. 

“Farewell,” said she, holding out her hand to him. 
“God bless you!” he replied, “and Gerda, you will 
examine yourself and your heart thoroughly, will you 
not promise me this?” 

“I promise, to-morrow you shall hear from me.”^ 
The door closed behind the maiden; James Jansz’* 
eyes followed her. O, would that he could obtain for 
her the happiness in life that she hoped for! no sacrifice 
would be too great for him. He stood there a long time 
lost in thought, then noticing that it had grown dusk, 
he made himself ready for his walk through the city, — 
his poor, his sick and abandoned were waiting for him. 
And yet his thoughts were not wholly taken up with 
them this evening, for Gerda’s image forced itself again 


* His own words. 


6 


81 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


and again to the foreground. What would she do? 
Would she seek to know God’s will above all else? 

When James Jansz Graswinkel returned late at night 
from his labor of love, the windows in neighbor Blooker’s 
house were brilliantly illuminated, but in his home only 
one window was bright, and there his dear mother sat 
praying for him. Now this light, too, was extinguished, 
and he went into his bare little room, praising God who 
had given him peace in the midst of the turmoil of the 
world. 

On the next morning James Jansz had been up a 
long time and was standing by the open window enjoy- 
ing the beauty of the springtime and the morning, when 
an arm was thrown about his neck and the clear eyes of 
his mother, who had long been a widow, looked lovingly 
into his. 

“Good morning, mother!” 

“Good morning, my son! I have something to tell 
you.” 

“About Gerda?” 

“Yes.” 

“Tell me, please.” 

Gerda is engaged to John Blooker.” 

Frau Graswinkel’s eyes were fixed with anxious at- 
tention on her son’s face. He, however, returned her 
look steadfastly. “Mother, I know what you are think- 
82 


*‘Love Never FailetN* (1552). 


ing. I gave up everything for Christ's sake, it is only 
thus that I can fully serve him with the brethren." 

‘‘But others !" 

“Yes, others can do otherwise," interrupted he, “but 
I cannot, mother ! I am happy in renunciation and in the 
friendship of my Master." 

Frau Graswinkel gazed upon her son's noble, beam- 
ing countenance. Yes, he was free from the world and 
its joys, it did not grieve him that others enjoyed them. 
She went away pacified, but he remained a long time 
standing by the window, not seeing the sunlight which 
grew brighter and brighter in the dewy garden, nor hear- 
ing the twitter of the birds ; but before his mental vision 
appeared the face of a young and beautiful girl, and his 
soul wrestled with God that He might attend this friend 
of his youth on the storm-swept path of life. When 
Gerda came to see him in the evening, he met her with 
calm friendliness. She was very grave and as she sat 
down upon the stool she asked, not without some embar- 
rassment: “James Jansz, do you know all?" 

“Yes, Gerda, may you never repent of your step." 

She wanted to say more, but her friend's reserved 
manner caused her to be silent. He then spoke of his 
poor, and only when he rose to make his rounds, did she 
find courage to say: “James, to-morrow evening we are 
going to celebrate our engagement ; you will come, won't 

83 


for the Sake of the Faith. 


you? John and his parents send you a pressing invi- 
tation/' 

“No, Gerda!" he replied, “you know that I do not 
go into company ; but if you want to show me some affec- 
tion, send some of your good things to my poor.” 

“We will do that anyway; please, James, do come." 

“No, don't ask me, you cannot persuade me. And 
now help me to fasten the bottles and flasks in this strap, 
or I shall not be able to carry them all. O, child, you 
do not know how blessed it is to help the poor and sick, 
to comfort the sorrowing, to set right those who have 
gone astray. I would not exchange my life with any one.” 

Involuntarily Gerda glanced around the meager little 
room. In one corner lay the few books which James 
Jansz Graswinkel possessed; beside them lay everything 
that was needed in distilling, for he had learned to do 
this in order to prepare more strengthening medicines. 
On the walls hung bunches of herbs. James interrupted 
her observations. 

“I must go. Gerda, farewell! and — to-morrow — 
do not forget my poor!” ^ 

The girl gave him her hand, a deep blush suffused 
her countenance, and she whispered: “James Jansz, will 
you think of me in your prayers?” 

“I have always included you in my prayers and shall 
continue to do so. God keep you !” He strode out has- 
tily into the fading twilight. 

84 


**Love Never Faileth'* (1552). 


Gerda remained in the little room a long time medi- 
tating. What was it that made James Jansz so great ? 
Was it his scorn of his own wealth? his renunciation of 
all comforts and pleasures? his great poverty? his learn- 
ing? his giving aid to great and small, whatever their 
need ? The girl shook her head. Then her eyes fell upon 
his Bible, and she remembered what he had read to her 
from the first epistle to the Corinthians. Yes, she knew 
now, it was love, the unselfish, warm-hearted love which 
made him like a saint, and rising she whispered: '‘Love 
never faileth.” 

Four years had passed since that day. John Blook- 
er’s parents had died and had not left him as great a for- 
tune as he had expected, and he was no longer able to 
continue in the style in which he had lived heretofore. It 
was very hard for him to deny himself this and that. His 
parents had always allowed him to have everything he 
wished, he was spoiled with pleasure-seeking. Gerda had 
often remonstrated with him, saying they must retrench ; 
she saw that they would not be able to go on in this way, 
but it was in vain. She often sat on the stool beside 
James Jansz. Alas! he saw indeed how thin her cheeks 
were getting and that her eyes no longer beamed, but 
he could not help her; he could only point out to her 
again and again the great love of the Good Shepherd 
whose heart is open to every one. A ray of sunshine had 

85 


For the Sake of the Faith, 


come into the young wife’s soul and life when her little 
son was born. 

'‘He shall be called James Jansz,” said she to her 
husband, and he consented. The friend became the 
child’s godfather and was peculiarly devoted to him. 

On a mild spring evening, just as James Graswinkel 
was getting ready to go out on his errand of mercy, 
for there were many who were waiting for him, John 
Blooker came in and said: “James, come over to our 
house; the child is sick.” 

His friend looked at him earnestly and asked: “Very 
sidk?” 

“I do not know ; the women are always over anxious. 
Gerda wants you to come.” 

“John,” said James solemnly, “I fear it is not well 
with your love for your wife.” 

“Why not? Has she been complaining to you?” 

“Never, but do you think that one does not see when 
the heart is warm or cold? Meet her with love.” 

“I tell you, she has only love for her child, but none 
for me.” 

“John!” exclaimed his friend reproachfully, but the 
other turned to go, only asking him once more: “Come 
to Gerda quickly, she is expecting you,” and then he went 
away. 

James Jansz took some medicines and walked out 
toward the Blooker residence. 

86 


*'Love Never FailetN* (1552). 


For those times it was furnished elegantly and fash- 
ionably; nothing was spared that could enhance its com- 
fort and splendor. James Jansz mounted the stairway 
and opened the door into a high-ceiled room; it was 
empty. He went on, and there at the end of the suite 
of rooms stood the wooden cradle, and beside it sat Frau 
Gerda with her head against the high carved back of a 
chair, fast asleep. Care and sorrow were written on her 
pale face, and yet it was the same which James Jansz had 
loved in his youth. He gazed at it a long time. O, he 
had helped so many people, could he not do so here too ? 
He shook his head ; love overcomes everything, but when 
it has fled there can be no help. O, God, had it ever 
been of the true sort. 

/ The little invalid now stirred and immediately the 
mother started up with fear; then noticing her friend, 
she hastened toward him crying in beseeching tones: 
“James Jansz, my child will die if you do not help him 
“There is only one Helper,” he answered, “have you 
forgotten the great Master in Israel?” 

The young wife lowered her eyes, but he continued : 
“We can do nothing by our weak might.” 

“Try it, James!” implored Gerda. “I shall have to 
despair if God takes my boy, I have nothing left but 
him.” With a groan she put her hands before her face. 

“Do not fall into sin, Gerda,” said her friend mildly ; 
“but now, let me see the child, it is awake.” He made 

87 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


a thorough examination of the sick boy held his fever- 
ish hand and listened to his heavy breathing. It was 
a long time before he turned to the anxiously waiting 
mother: “The little boy is very sick, but God can help 
him.” He gave him some medicine, whereupon he grew 
quieter. Then he sat down beside the cradle and said: 
“Gerda, go to bed; I shall stay with my patient all 
night.” 

But she shook her head : “Not for the world, James ; 
I shall watch with you.” 

Her friend knew that all opposition would be of no 
avail and allowed her to have her way. They sat toge- 
ther in silence for a long time, the evening shadows fall- 
ing over wood and plain. Upon a table in the corner a 
wax candle burned, throwing its flickering light upon 
the child’s face on which the two were fixedly gazing. 
It was long after midnight when noisy steps were heard 
outside. 

“It is John,” said Gerda, when she saw that her 
friend was listening. - 

“So late? Where has he been?” 

“I don’t know, perhaps in the society of his friends, 
who have led him astray. James Jansz, John is a gamb- 
ler and what is more — he plays with false dice!” 
‘‘Gerda!” 

“I tell you,” continued the young wife, “because I 
can no longer bear my grief. O, Tames, what have I 

88 


''Love Never Failetn'* (1552). 


done to deserve such misery?” She had spoken in a 
whisper and with great excitement. With loving touch 
her friend placed his hand on hers and asked: *‘Have 
you not to reproach yourself? Has your love always 
been long-suffering and patient?” 

“My love is long since dead,” interrupted Gerda, 
“and I should like nothing better than to be freed from 
the fetters which bind me to John.” 

“And your child? Should he grow up without a 
father?” 

“My love would compensate him for everything.” 

“Your love ? What did you once tell me concerning 
it? Was not your love for your husband — ?” 

“Yes, yes, I was foolish enough to think so, I have 
been terribly disappointed.” 

“Gerda, pray to God. You have turned away from 
Him and therefore you cannot remain steadfast in suf- 
fering.” 

“Yes, I will begin a new life when I am rid of my 
husband.” 

Her friend’s eyes turned to her with sadness, but 
she slipped down on the floor beside her child’s cradle, 
lifted her hands toward him and implored : “James Jansz, 
help me to be free !” 

“No, Gerda, not so! You must not throw all the 
blame upon your frivolous husband, but examine your- 
self and. see wherein you yourself have failed.” 


For the Sake of the Faith, 


‘‘And you repulse me, who beg you for help?” 

“No, but it is help that I am going to give you, 
when I say, Endure? Perhaps it is not yet too late 
to regain your husband’s heart; try it, and may the 
Almighty bless and help you. I shall pray for you and 
not grow weary.” 

Gerda wept silently. She well knew in this hour, 
how much she had erred and that a great part of the 
blame was hers. If her love had been long-suffering, 
perhaps John would not have turned from her. O, how 
soon she had ceased to hope all things, to believe all 
things, to endure all things ! Was it too late to make 
an attempt to win his love again ? The young wife strug- 
gled with herself a long time. When the morning 
dawned and James Jansz rose to go, she gave him her 
hand and whispered: 

“I will try to do what God wishes.” 

“Then He will help you,” answered her friend, “He 
will help you and give you peace.” 

The little boy recovered slowly, and in the long 
anxious days and nights which Gerda spent by the sick- 
bed the love of her friend in its unrelenting firmness 
became clear to her. In all things he first asked what 
was the Lord’s will; He was a guide for him even in 
the darkest valley. But this questioning gave him like- 
wise the deep and holy peace which made his life such a 
happy one. 


90 


''Love Never FailetN' (1552). 


When Gerda sat again on the stool in his little room, 
holding her little son on her lap, she besought him: “Tell 
me more of the divine love, that my earthly love may 
again be founded on it. I know that the Master alone 
can teach true love and true fidelity.’’ 

“Yes, Gerda, it is so, and you will be happy if you 
hold fast to this,” answered her friend with emotion; 
“what I can do to help you, I will do.” 

From this time on a more ardent bond of friendship 
existed between Gerda and James Jansz, and a little of 
the peacefulness of the humbler man flowed into her 
soul. 

They were not glad summer days that Gerda spent, 
they were more filled with struggle than ever, but her 
soul had gone silently to God and He helped her. This 
had taken place slowly, as the fruit ripens; alas, soon 
she was to be tried in a more difficult school! 

Autumn had come. In the streets of Delft it was 
rainy and stormy, yet all the brighter by contrast was 
Gerda’s chamber. She had just put her boy to bed and 
was sitting lost in thought before the bright chimney 
fire. Her face was as pale as formerly, but it no longer 
wore an expression of bitterness and unrest, but of hum- 
ble resignation. The door was thrown open and her 
husband entered. She looked at him with surprise, but 
he drew up an armchair beside her and said roughly: 
“Gerda, something dreadful has happened.” 

91 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


Terrified the young wife drew herself up: “John, 
what is it?’' 

“We are beggars; the downfall of our house can no 
longer be delayed.” 

Gerda uttered a cry and covered her face with her 
hands, but her husband continued with unnatural calm- 
ness. “When everything is settled, I shall go to Ant- 
werp. I cannot be poor here. I will not have the finger 
of scorn pointed at me. I will give you the choice of 
sharing my lot or of staying here with the child. James 
Jansz will doubtless give you enough — ” 

“I shall never beg,” broke in Gerda bitterly. “I am 
young and strong, I shall be able to earn my own bread. 
But you — you?” 

“Don't trouble yourself about me, everybody has but 
one life, and if it gets too hard — ” 

“John!” 

“Think over the matter until to-morrow; as I said, 
I will set you free.” 

Nevertheless there was a slight trembling in his 
voice, which he wished to make seem careless. Gerda 
was about to give him her hand; but she hesitated; the 
words, “Love hopeth all things, endureth all things” did 
not come into her mind quick enough. When she looked 
up, her husband had gone out. She sat down by the 
fire again, filled with anguish but shedding no tears. 
The things that surrounded her no longer belonged to 

92 


**Love Never Faileth'* (1352). 


her, but to the deceived creditors of her frivolous hus- 
band; she scarcely comprehended the greatness of the 
calamity. Alas, was there light in this darkness? Was 
there help in this need ? 

James Jansz, — yes, she would go to him. She put 
on her cloak and went out. 

When she entered his room, he cried out in dismay : 
"Gerda!’’ 

But she threw off her shielding garment, sank 
down upon the stool, and with sobbing voice exclaimed: 
"James, it is all over.” 

"I knew that it would come some day,” he replied 
sadly. 

"John has given me the choice of going with him 
or of staying here with the child; he is going to Ant- 
werp.” 

"And you?” 

"I shudder at the thought of going with him.” 

"Nevertheless, Gerda, it is the path of duty.” 

"James Jansz!” 

"I can say nothing else for your own sake.” 

"O, James, I thought I had been made strong, that 
my love had grown to be a little like that which the 
apostle Paul demands, but now I see that I was mis- 
taken.” 

"You would have continued to live with John if he 
had remained rich, wouldn’t you?” 

93 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


Gerda did not answer, but wept softly. Her friend { 
paced the narrow room in deep thought, then stopped j 

at last before the young woman, and said : “Gerda, let « 

John go and look for work; I will help him, I have 
friends in Antwerp. If he succeeds, you can follow him ; 
until then, move into the rooms of my deceased mother, 
they have been empty since she died.’^ 

The decision had evidently cost him pain, but he did 
what he considered right. With mild and compassionate ' 
looks he regarded his sorrowing friend, warmly pressing 
the small slender hand which she extended to him in 
gratitude. 

“I will speak to John,’’ he continued, “and, Gerda, it 
is your firm resolve to follow him, is it not?” 

For a moment she hesitated, a deep flush covered 
her face which up to this moment had been so pale, sobs ' 
came from her lips, then she answered with unsteady 
voice: “Yes, I will — !” 

Ruin soon stared them in the face. The house of 
Blooker had scarcely suspended payment, when demands 
were made on it from every side. The lamenting credi- 
tors feared to lose their money, but justice was done to 
all. James Graswinkel worked untiringly together with 
another trusty man, and they found the condition of 
affairs such that it was a source of wonder that the 
collapse had not taken place sooner. John had man- 
aged his business so unscrupulously, it seemed he must 
94 


*'Love Never Falle tN* (1552), 


have been blind. This much at least the faithful, self- 
sacrificing man wished to do for Gerda, the friend and 
beloved of his youth, namely, save the name of Blooker 
from disgrace, that his godson need not blush when he 
told his name. , y. 

At last everything was settled up, the house was sold, 
the creditors satisfied, and John in Antwerp. Gerda lived 
in retirement with her little son in Frau Graswinkel’s 
rooms. A great chasm had opened in her life, and her 
soul was too weary to hope that a change for the better 
might some day come again. However, since all earthly 
things to which she had held, had passed away, she clung, 
like a drowning person to the saving plank, and this 
was God Himself, whom James Jansz brought near to 
her. Now, in her deepest need and abandonment, she 
learned to know Him truly. Him who seeks those who go 
astray and follows the lost sheep into the wilderness. 
They were serious but blessed hours, which she passed 
sitting beside her friend. She fully recognized the Lord 
as her Savior, and His love filled and expanded her 
heart, so that she could understand, “Love hopeth all 
things, believeth all things, endureth all things.” Then 
she often said: “James Jansz, I wish that John would 
send for me, I can do all things now, through Him who 
strengtheneth me.” 

But John Blooker did not send for his wife. At 
first he was in earnest in wishing to gain a livelihood and 

95 


For the Sane of the Faith. 


to begin a new life with his family, but he soon fell again 
into frivolous company. The gaming-devil seized him 
anew, and all was over with his good intentions. The 
business house which he had entered had patience with 
him for a long time; but when the new year began he 
was dismissed. He quickly went from bad to worse; 
and allowing himself to fall into debt through dishonest 
methods, in order to escape punishment he was obliged 
secretly to leave the city. 

Thus the spring crept on, with sunshine and rain, 
with storms and cold nights. 

It was a dark evening toward the end of March. 
Light frost lay over the earth, and James Jansz folded 
his cloak closely around him when he went out to begin 
his customary ministrations. He hurried through streets 
and lanes which became more and more deserted. He 
was not afraid; he had only one thought, the needs of 
his fellow men. 

He had not noticed that someone was following him ; 
suddenly a man tore off his cloak and ran away. James 
Jansz hurried after him, seized his hand and said heartily : 
“My friend, if you are doing this on account of poverty, 
come with me; I will give you the cloak and money 
besides.” 

At the sound of his voice the thief stopped as if 
rooted to the spot. From an adjacent window fell a 

96 


''Love Never FailetN' (1552). 


narrow streak of light and when James Jansz looked more 
closely, he cried out in affright, “John Blooker!” 

The man made no answer, and James grasping his 
hand more firmly said : “Alas, has it come to this ?” 

“Yes, to this,'' ejaculated John bitterly; “James, let 
me go. An honest man and a thief do not suit together." 

But the great, patient philanthropist did not release 
his hand but said: “Come home with me and we will 
finish our talk." 

In silence they walked through the city. As they 
passed along the canal, John suddenly asked; “Where 
is Gerda?" 

“In my mother's house." 

“Will you take me to her ?" 

“Yes!" 

Never!" screamed John, and tore loose from his 
friend. An instant later the waters of the canal closed 
over the unhappy man's head. 

James Jansz hurried into the next house and begged 
for help. Every one thought it was an accident, and 
soon the place which had but a moment before been so 
dark, was bright with the red light of torches. They 
called, and some untied a boat ; nothing was to be seen. 
Then — was there not a movement in the water yonder ? 
A hand emerged from it as if to grasp something. 

James Jansz was one of those in the boat. With- 
out hesitation he sprang into the water, and after a short 
7 97 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


time appeared again on the surface with his burden. The 
boat took both of them in and soon both were in safety. 
John Blooker was unconscious. James Jansz hastened 
ahead to inform Gerda; his first thought was to save 
her anxiety and fright. Then he changed his clothes. 
When he went again into the front part of the house, 
some men were carrying m the still unconscious man. 
Gerda went to meet them, pale as death, but wearing on 
her countenance a holy peace and a divine loftiness of 
expression that filled James Jansz’ soul with unspeakable 
joy and fervent thanksgiving. 

She calmly ordered everything, and soon her husband 
was gently put to bed. She seated herself beside him 
and looked at his motionless features. “O, God, do not 
let him pass away thus!” prayed she. 

Her friend did his utmost for him, but it seemed as 
if all were in vain. At last, long after midnight, life 
slowly returned; and with fast flowing tears the young 
wife knelt at the bedside of her miserable husband, pray- 
ing that the Lord might not impute to him the sin which 
he had committed. 

Anxious, weary weeks followed that evening. For 
a time James Jansz had hope that the Almighty would 
bless his skill for the sick man, but later he realized 
that the end would soon come, and from that time he 
had but one aim in view, that he might save the soul of 

98 


*'Love Never Faileth” (1552), 


his friend. Gerda was untiring in her ministration to 
the invalid. One morning as she sat beside him, he put 
out his hand to her, saying in deep contrition: “Gerda, 
how can you wait on me so, on me who have so failed 
toward you, more than I can express?” 

Then a sweet, soft light came into her eyes and she 
answered: “I have rightly learned what these words 
mean : Love hopeth all things, believeth all things, endur- 
eth all things.” 

The tears coursed slowly down the sunken cheeks 
of the sick man, and he whispered: “Alas, how shall I 
pass before the eternal Judge?” 

“John, He Himself is Love. By His grace I have 
forgiven you; and He will forgive you, because He has 
a heart of compassion towards every sinner.” 

“Gerda, do you think that I am going to die soon?” 

For a moment the wife hesitated ; the anxiety in the 
deep-set eyes of her sick husband pierced her heart. But 
she answered firmly, “Yes, John.” 

A painful groan escaped his lips. To be sure he had 
sought death lightly and in unbelief, but now the great- 
ness of his sin had been revealed to him, and he believed 
in eternity and a King of righteousness. 

James Jansz entered, and the sick man cried out 
almost in despair: “James, my sin is too great to be 
forgiven !” 

99 


LofC. 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


‘'God is greater than your sin/' rejoined his friend ; 
“He can and will forgive you if you truly repent." 

Gerda left the room ; the two men continued talking 
a long time of sin and guilt, of mercy and grace, and 
when James Jansz left his friend, his pale lips whispered : 

“God be merciful to me a sinner !" 

One month after John Blooker had been carried into 
the Granswinkel mansion, he was carried out again. He 
had died believing in his Savior; day and night James 
Jansz and Gerda had manifested to him in their lives the 
love which is of God and leads to God. Men had for- 
given him, and the Lord too had wiped away his sin, 
although it had been as scarlet, and he went without fear 
through the dark valley of death, hoping for the great 
mercy which would give him a place, even though it might 
be the humblest, at the heavenly table. 

His young wife remained a widow all her life, and 
with the help of her friend brought up her son strictly 
yet lovingly. She lived in the Graswinkel home and 
served the Lord in helping James Jansz with his poor 
and wretched. She waited with longing for the Lord to 
deliver her from the inperfection and struggle of this 
lower life, but patiently endured, and for many a year 
often sat on the stool in her friend’s bare little room while 
they talked together of God and of His love and mercy. 
She became more and more estranged from the world, 
100 


**Love Never Faileth” (1552). 


and with joyful heart at last she greeted the summons of 
her Savior, when after a short illness He took her home, 
just as her noble son had established his own fireside. 

Time passed until the year 1623. 

In the little unadorned room, where James Jansz 
Graswinkel had lived for seventy years, stood his plain 
coffin. There was great mourning and lamentation in 
the city of Delft; the poor and wretched had lost their 
loving father and benefactor. And they all came wishing 
to see him once more. There he lay in his plain dress, 
on his lips was a sweet and happy smile, and on his 
broad white brow lay a heavenly peace. When evening 
came there entered a man who might have been in his 
sixtieth year. He lit the wax candles and kept the night- 
watch; it was James Jansz Blooker. With inexpressible 
love he looked at the dead, then seated himself in the old 
chair which throughout his life had been the deceased's 
only luxury, and took up his Bible. Ah, he knew every 
leaf of it; his mother’s friend had been his friend also, 
as long as he could remember! When the morning 
dawned he was reading the thirteenth chapter of the First 
Epistle to the Corinthians, and on the margin was writ- 
ten: “Gerda.” 

He knew what it signified, and closed the book, whis- 
pering: “Love believeth all things, hopeth all things, en- 
dureth all things. Love never faileth I” 

101 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


James Jansz Graswinkel is unforgotten. As long 
as the Evangelical Church stands, he will be spoken of 
as one of her ascetics. And some day the Lord our God 
will in tones of love say to him up yonder, '‘Thou good 
and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy 
Lord!’’* 


* Sources : “Lives of Pious Men of All Conditions in 
Ancient and Modern Times.” By Johannes Hübner. 


102 


^^endurittg Unto tfte €nd/^ 


( 1558 ) 

It was the year of grace 1558. 

In a large room of his stately mansion, situated in 
the very heart of Paris, the noted jurist and senator 
Anne du Bourg was sitting before the brightly blazing 
chimney. The fire not only dispelled the chill of the 
November day, but also illumined the room. This was 
simply but elegantly furnished. On the walls hung the 
pictures of his ancestors. His family originated in 
Auvergne and he was of noble birth. Over the fireplace 
stood a plain white marble cross. Mpsingly the master's 
eyes rested upon it, and he devoutly folded his hands 
as his thoughts turned to the cross of Golgotha and to 
Him who loved us even unto death. Alas, that so bitter 
a quarrel had been kindled on account of this Prince of 
Peace, and on account of His Word, which preached 
only love ! Alas, that so much fleshly zeal had been min- 
gled with the holy cause, and that here too the blood of 
martyrs had to cry out to heaven! Anne du Bourg 
passed his hand though his thick dark hair, which had 
of late begun to be threaded with silver, although he 
was but thirty-seven years old ; then he inclined his head 
to one side, listening. Without in the corridor a voice 
103 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


was heard, and soon thereafter his old servant Henry 
entered. 

The senator expected that he would announce what 
he wanted, but as he remained standing in silence at 
the door, he looked up at him with surprise and inter- 
rogation. 

The flames from the fireplace lit up the face of the 
old servant, on which deep excitement was portrayed; 
and when Anne du Bourg sprang up in affright, ex- 
claiming, ^'What has happened, Henry ?’" the faithful 
man answered with trembling voice, “A price has been 
put upon Victor Roger’s head; they are seeking him 
everywhere.” 

The senator sank back into his arm chair ; then, eager 
to learn the particulars, motioned his servant to him. 
The latter obeyed, and in a half-whisper related the 
following : 

‘T wished to make some purchases and was walking 
through the streets; as I turned a corner an excited 
throng came toward me, and a wild-looking man cried 
out: ‘Did you not see a man running away? perhaps 
you know him, it is Victor Roger ?’ ” 

“ ‘Victor Roger ?’ I asked with surprise. 

“ ‘Yes, the very man,’ he answered ; ‘he has been 
making very offensive assertions concerning the honor 
and power of the Church, and has been speaking of up- 
heavals in Germany through the great revolutionist, 

104 


'‘Enduring Unto the End'' (1558), 


what is it they call him — Luther — or Calvin — or some 
such name/ The man said more of the like while the 
rude multitude rushed along; it apparently pleased him 
to communicate the news to some one who as yet knew 
nothing of the matter/’ 

“But,” exclaimed the senator, “how did all this hap- 
pen? I cannot understand it.” 

“Victor is fiery and independent; he spoke of his 
convictions in the circle, as he thought, of his faithful 
friends, setting the German reformer up as a model and 
praising him. But one among them was false and be- 
trayed him, and soon and unexpectedly the executioners 
came and arrested him. He submissively allowed him- 
self to be led away, but took advantage of the first 
opportunity to make his escape. In the chase which fol- 
lowed more and more persons had joined themselves, 
many of them scarcely knowing what it was all about.” 

With a sorrowful countenance the old servant ceased 
speaking, but the senator covered his face with his hands 
and groaned: “Victor, Victor!” Then he raised his 
eyes to Henry who had remained standing beside him 
and said: “He is lost!” 

“God will help him out and save him!” 

Anne du Bourg rose, laid his hand on the old man’s 
and said with emotion: “Save? My friend, the time 
will soon come, when the individual will not look for 
salvation, but when he will have only one prayer in 

105 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


his heart and on his lips, that he may endure unto the 
end/' 

The faithful man looked anxiously at his master and 
asked timidly, ‘‘And you?" 

“If the Lord demands it, I shall confess my faith." 

“Spare yourself!" begged Henry. 

“Did the Lord spare Himself? Old friend, you 
should be glad to serve a courageous master." 

With streaming eyes the old man kissed the sena- 
tor's hand and left the room. But Anne du Bourg sat 
down in his chair, stirred the fire to a brighter glow 
and gazed into it in deep thought. 

Victor had been his friend as long as he could 
remember, and not only had heartfelt love united them, 
but for some years the realization which they shared 
in common, that the Catholic Church was not the right 
one, but that God through His instrument had created 
another, had been an additional bond between them. 

The two friends zealously examined the doctrines 
of the reform movement, and soon they praised God 
for His great works among the elect. To be sure they 
were not unaware that they were exposing themselves 
to great and constant danger, for everywhere in France 
they heard of the murder and funeral piles of the believ- 
ers ; but they also knew that they did not stand alone, but 
that congregations had been formed here and there, and 
that the number of courageous followers was greater than 
106 


'^Enduring Unto the End" (155S), 


the enemy imagined. How happy the two friends had 
been in their search for the real truth ! 

The senator’s thoughts were interrupted by a quiet, 
careful opening and closing of the door, and he heard 
the key turned in the key-hole. He looked up with 
surprise and rose with a start, for a tall figure enveloped 
in a cloak strode toward him throwing off his covering. 

“Victor!” 

With a suppressed cry of joy the friends lay in each 
other’s arms. 

The new-comer was the first to release himself. 
He looked searchingly at his friend and said: “Anne, 
I am despised and a fugitive; they have put a price 
upon my head; may I stay?” 

“Yes, stay ; you are my friend.” 

“But—” 

“Sit down beside me and put doubts aside. Tell 
me everything. Where do you think of going? I must 
know !” 

Victor complied with his friend’s invitation. He 
answered: “I have found refuge in an attic-chamber in 
the suburbs. Several hundred people live in the house; 
so one person is not much heeded. My friend, I have 
suddenly become poor and forsaken. I have saved noth- 
ing but my life.” 

“That is much,” replied the senator earnestly ; “and 
beside that, you have your freedom.” 

107 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


Victor smiled sadly. His friend continued : you 

have become poor, remember that Christ renounced His 
glory for us; if you call yourself forsaken, then re- 
member His abandonment at the cross, and, Victor, what 
you suffer, you suffer for the sake of the great Master.'' 

‘‘Do you think I am afraid?" 

A smile passed over Anne du Bourg's face. ‘‘No, 
Victor Roger knows no fear, but to withstand open ene- 
mies is another thing than suffering martyrdom." 

For awhile it was still in the room, then the banished 
man raised his eyes to his friend and said: ''Anne, how 
different I had imagined our meeting to-day. I wanted 
to come to you to tell you that I had confessed my love 
to Constance and that she had promised to be mine — 
and now it is all over. I must give her back her prom- 
ise — she must not be bound to the fate of an exile." 

"Poor friend, the Lord is giving you and your faith 
a severe trial in the very beginning. The happiness of 
life is a strong snare to draw us to destruction ; will you 
be able to let it go for the Lord's sake?" 

Profound grief showed itself in the features of the 
listener, but he answered firmly: "I can and will do so." 

The senator gave him his hand and he continued : 
"I have but one request to make of you. Go to Con- 
stance and tell her everything; give her back the promise 
she niade me. Say that I thank her for the happiness 
of that one hour, — for her love — for — " 

108 


** Enduring Unto the End” (1558). 


The strong man's voice failed, he pressed his quiv- 
ering lips firmly together and looked down at the floor. 

“The Lord will repay you a hundredfold what you 
are now sacrificing for Him, but — ” 

“But you know that cannot sweeten the bitterness 
of this hour. His grace will be sufficient for me with- 
out this happiness. His grace which will eventually give 
me a place in the everlasting habitations. I have already 
repented in these short hours that I escaped from the 
executioner, but the love of life suddenly took forcible 
possession of me. Perhaps the Lord wishes to give 
me some work for His kingdom, work for the despised 
and persecuted, and if so I shall take it upon myself 
and complete it bravely." 

The old courage beamed from the dark eyes of the 
speaker, and the senator, deeply moved, gave him his 
hand, saying, “God bless you !" 

The clock on the mantel struck and Victor Roger 
rose hastily. He threw his arm around his friend and 
implored: “To-morrow morning, Anne, I beg of you, 
go to Constance! she will be very uneasy about me. 
Take her my last greeting; she must think of me as of 
one dead, which perhaps, I soon shall be." 

A warm grasp of the hand, then the guest again 
wrapped his cloak about him and noiselessly left the 
room. The senator, however, sent up a fervent prayer 
that the Lord might protect the noble, courageous man. 

109 


For the Sake of the Faith, 


Sad times had come to France. The light of the 
Gospel, which in Germany had again been placed upon 
a candlestick and was shining brightly, cast its beams 
also into blessed France. But it could not penetrate 
far, could not renew things. It was only strong enough 
to arouse antagonism, to inflame the anger of the 
Catholics into false zeal. Intolerance soon reached its 
height, and wherever it was even suspected that a per- 
son might harbor revolutionary opinions, his sentence 
was already pronounced. The times were wicked and 
accursed. Henry the Second was reigning in France. 
His wife was Catherine de Medici, who hated every- 
thing non-Catholic. Moreover the king gave ear to the 
evil counsels of his mistress, Diana de Poitiers. 

But the greater the degeneracy of the times, the 
brighter shone the purity and earnestness of the reformed 
Church. The believers assembled here and there, hold- 
ing their secret meetings for devotion; they were ready 
to seal their faith, their better knowledge, with death. 
Ah, the blood of martyrs cried out to heaven at that 
time, which was the middle of the sixteenth century, 
and there was no king who gave any heed to the question, 
‘‘Where is thy brother?” 

As senator, Anne du Bourg was well acquainted 
with all the circumstances, and the future seemed to 
offer little hope for his friend. It was incumbent on 
him now for the first thing to give to the betrothed her 
110 


'‘Enduring Unto the End'* (1558), 


lover’s message. The next morning he set out to visit 
her. As an orphan she lived alone with an old relation 
in one of the principal streets of Paris. Her father 
had left her considerable wealth, but since even during 
his lifetime the apostasy from the old faith had been 
great, it was left with the condition that should his 
daughter incline to the new doctrine, she should have 
only a comparatively small sum and the rest should go 
to the Church. 

The autumn sun shone into the richly furnished 
room. Constance du Roi was sitting by the window look- 
ing restlessly down upon the street. Victor had not 
been there yesterday ; ah, how her heart longed for his 
love and the expression of it. How rich to her seemed 
a life spent at Victor’s side, how securely could she 
take with him her onward journey! 

Now someone was knocking at the door, and in re- 
sponse to her surprised “Come in,” Anne du Bourg ap- 
peared on the threshold. She did not know him and went 
toward him with feelings of apprehension. He spoke 
his name, and she eclaixmed in accents of fear: “Vic- 
tor’s friend? Has some misfortune befallen him? I 
pray you, tell me, is he dead ?” 

“He is alive,” replied the senator earnestly, “but he 
is hunted.” 

Constance’s large blue eyes looked beseechingly at 
the speaker as if she wished to hear more, but her 

111 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


trembling lips could not utter a word. She struggled 
hard; a too sudden darkness had followed the bright 
outlook. Her hands were tightly clasped and her soul 
wrestled with God. In silence Anne du Bourg’s eyes 
rested upon her. He had never seen her; he knew her 
only from his friend’s account of her. Such purity of 
soul lay upon her beautiful pale countenance, his whole 
heart went out to her. 

‘‘Tell me everything,” she implored at last. 

The senator seated himself beside her, informing 
her what had happened. Finally he fulfilled his promise 
and gave her her lover’s last message. 

A quiet smile illuminated the girl’s features, and 
she replied : “He gives me back my promise, but I shall 
not take it. I belong to him, just as I belong to the 
great, holy cause. Through Victor I have learned to 
know and love it, and nothing can henceforth make me 
desert it.” 

“But he is a despised, a lost man !” 

“I will be despised with him ; and he is only lost to 
the world, — he has been found and recognized by 
Christ.” 

Filled with veneration the senator gazed at Con- 
stance, but she continued: “Tell me where he is, and 
he shall hear from my lips the words which Ruth once 
spoke: ‘Entreat me not to leave thee or to return from 
112 


''Enduring Unto the End'' (1358), 


following after thee. Whither thou goest, I will go. 
Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.’ ” 

Inspiration made the young face glow, and the sena- 
tor turned aside ; deep sorrow filled his heart ; alas, was 
this maiden to take up the hard struggle of life and to 
face its persecution, anxiety and uncertainty? It seemed 
to him that as a friend he must stretch out his hand and 
prevent her. 

Once more he tried to place clearly before her eyes 
what that was to which she aspired, and said earnestly: 
‘‘Not only persecution and misery will be your fate, noble 
maiden, but poverty and want as well. I know the con— 
ditions of your deceased father’s will.” 

But Constance’s strong soul did not waver, and 
without hesitation she answered : ‘‘Not my fate but ours, 
M. du Bourg. You do not know the fidelity of a wo- 
man’s love, else you would not seek to dissuade me.” 

The senator respectfully kissed the speaker’s hand, 
then said : “I did it for my friend’s sake ; but now that 
I have fulfilled my duty, let me make a request of you : 
May I be your friend ?” 

Trustingly the maiden placed her small white hand 
in that of the noble man, and a faint smile lighted up 
her features as she replied : “I thank you, and I accept 
your friendship, but remember it may bring you inta 
danger.” 

»8 


113 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


“Do you think I am less brave than Victor’s be- 
trothed ?” 

Constance shook her head; and then the two fell 
earnestly to discussing the situation. 

It was three days later and the night was falling. 
The wind swept through the streets and great drops of 
rain struck against the windows of the room in which 
Anne du Bourg stood leaning against the chimney-piece. 
Serious and thoughtful he looked at the flames. Ever and 
anon he started, listening intently at every noise from 
without. 

“They are coming,” he whispered at last, going to 
the door. 

When it had been opened, two men entered, Victor 
Roger and a clergyman of the reformed church. The 
senator greeted them with a warm grasp of the hand, 
then withdrew to seek Constance, who had been with 
him throughout the day. 

“Victor is here, are you ready?” 

The maiden followed him. 

The senator was very pale; doubts had arisen in his 
soul as to whether he was doing right, and they had not 
as yet been set at rest. Would the tender creature at 
his side be able to brave to the end the storm of perse- 
cution ? Did she know in fact what poverty and depriva- 
tion meant? Silently they walked through the corridor; 
as Anne du Bourg was about to grasp the door-knob, she 

114 


“Enduring Unto the End” (1338). 


laid her hand lightly on his, and looking him full in the 
face, there in the dim light of the great wax taper, she 
said: “My friend, let us make each to the other in this 
hour this promise, that should either of us, you or we, 
travel the hard road to martyrdom, the other shall stand 
by and strengthen him.” 

“Yes, I promise you!” 

She wanted to say more, but with swift decision the 
senator had opened the door and the strong arms of the 
waiting lover clasped his betrothed. 

“Victor!” 

A short time after, the clergyman went away, and 
a few hours later the newly married pair left the hospita- 
ble roof and hastened to their home, — alas, that it was 
only a poor little room in the suburb ! 

The senator, however, paced restlessly back and 
forth in his large room ; he thought he could still feel the 
pressure of the little hand upon his own, and the words 
again sounded in his ears: “Should one of us, you or 
we, ever have to travel the hard road to martyrdom, the 
other shall stand by to strengthen him.” 

The times became more and more serious. The 
watchfulness of the adherents of the old church was re- 
doubled ; daily it was reported that this one and that one 
had been seized, another, still another burned at the stake. 
With anxious suspense Anne du Bourg examined the 
records, but the names of Victor and Constance were not 

115 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


there. On the other hand, he became more and more 
conscious that he himself was the object of secret and 
eager observation. He managed several times for the 
strengthening of his faith to attend the secret meetings 
of the reformed Christians. He studied the Holy Scrip- 
tures more and more zealously, and it grew clearer and 
clearer to him that the new doctrine alone could give him 
peace. He had seen Victor and Constance only once at 
one of these meetings; in the midst of all their priva- 
tions they were happy. 

“Poor in earthly goods but rich in God,” the young 
wife had said with beaming face. 

Things could not go on as they were; something 
must be done, and impelled by this feeling, there gath- 
ered in Paris in the spring of the following year, 1559, 
a number of men who came from all parts of France as 
representatives of the Protestant believers, to hold a 
Synod and make the first public declaration of their faith. 

Anne du Bourg rejoiced over this move, but what 
would the enemy do? The question was not long to 
remain unanswered. The Parliament of Paris met, and 
00k counsel as to how the Lutheran heresy might best 
be extirpated. 

It was early on a sunny day in May. The senator, 
Anne du Bourg, stood at a window and looked out upon 
the street ; his countenance was as grave as if he had for- 
ever forgotten how to smile. Presently his old servant 
116 


Enduring Unto the End'' (1558). 


entered, and advancing quickly toward him, the senator 
whispered: “Henry, how is it in the suburbs?” 

“All is well, master; they are all filled with cour- 
age for the faith, and would have me tell you that their 
watchword is, ‘Lord, whom have I in heaven but Thee, 
and there is none upon earth that I desire beside Thee/ ” 

Anne du Bourg nodded contentedly, then he asked 
again, apparently with painful constraint: “Are they 
suffering need?” 

“No, master ; your kindness does not let them want/' 

“What I send them cannot suffice.” 

“But they know how to be poor, and they esteem it 
an honor.” 

“They are heroes, Henry !” 

“You, too, will be a hero, master, if it is required; 
I know you!” 

“Thank you, my friend; yes, I hope so. The times 
are more serious than ever, and something decisive will 
soon be done. Go, lay out my robes. I must shortly go 
to the senate.” 

When Anne du Bourg entered there a little later, 
several senators pressed about him and the question at 
issue was eagerly discussed. They were not favorable 
to the new doctrine, but neither did they reject it. The 
senate-chamber filled up more and more, and the ses- 
sion began. There was a wide difference of opinion 
among the senators ; but at last the greater number agreed 
117 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


to express themselves for tolerance. Thereupon the ad- 
herents of the old religion became angry ; they would go 
to the king, who himself should be present at the sitting 
of parliament and his voice give the decision. 

Greatly dejected, the little company of the faithful 
went home, and those who were undecided looked grave 
also. 

Just at this time. King Henry the Second, had 
neither time nor desire to respond to the demand 
made upon him. The weddings of his daughter Eliza- 
beth, and his sister, Margaret, were at hand, and the hall 
of parliament was being prepared for these festivities; 
nevertheless he had to consent, and ordered that the ses- 
sion should be held in the Augustinian monastery. 

It was on the evening of the 9th of July. Midnight 
was approaching ; but Anne du Bourg was still standing 
at the window. Deep sorrow lay on his features, be- 
cause he knew that the great cause was about to be de- 
feated. He did not think of himself, he was in God’s 
care, but he remembered his friends, and especially Vic- 
tor. He summoned his faithful Henry, and giving him 
his hand said: “My friend, I am seeing you perhaps 
for the last time. To-morrow will be an important day, 
and the Lord will permit me to know the truth. If I 
should not return, take Victor my love and this casket; 
it will keep him from need.’' 

The old servant broke into tears. 

118 


''Enduring Unto the End'' (1558), 


“Praise God with me/' continued the senator, “that 
He grants me the light of His Word ; that is surely worth 
a short time of suffering/' 

He motioned to Henry to withdraw ; the latter, pain- 
fully moved, complied. Anne du Bourg remained in 
prayer for many hours. Not until the stars grew pale 
did he lie down on his bed for a brief rest. 

The loth of June dawned, and the senators assem- 
bled in the refectory of the monastery. A feeling of 
anxious expression settled over the meeting. Now the 
king entered, accompanied by the Guises, the fanatical 
representatives of the papal party. 

Henry the Second commanded the senators to ex- 
press their opinions fully. A deathly stillness ensued in 
the spacious room. Alas, would not a single person have 
courage to take up the sacred cause of the new doctrine? 

j The faces of the enemy expressed triumph and mali- 
cious joy, but they exulted too soon, for now Anne du 
Bourg arose. After thanking the king for having come 
to hear the great cause of the Lord Jesus Christ, which 
princes above all other men had to defend, he continued r 
“Frightful sacrilege against God, perjury, and adulter}^ 
are not only permitted, but people are incited to them by 
disgraceful licentiousness, while those are condemned 
who wish to uncover the outrages of Rome ; and truly it 
is not a light thing to condemn those who in the midst 
of the flames confess the name of Jesus Christ/’ 

119 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


Painful silence followed these words. The king 
rose and left the room accompanied by several of the 
cardinals. What might he be thinking of? Did he in- 
cline toward the senator and his candid words ? Ah, not 
long were they to be in doubt. As Anne du Bourg was 
leaving the meeting, he was seized by Count Montgom- 
ery. The king had given orders to throw him into the 
Bastile.* Fear took possession of the assembly; it was 
the first time that men had laid hands upon the person 
of a senator. But none tried to assist the brave man; 
the best of them had only a compassionate shrug of the 
shoulders for him, and even this but in secret. With head 
erect Anne du Bourg followed the count ; he knew what 
was before him. Nevertheless he did not repent having 
done honor to the truth ; he had confessed the Lord, who 
would likewise help him. 

Evil times began for the senator. From the very 
first he missed every ray of hope from his heart that 
freedom would be restored to him. He knew well that 
his friends would leave no means untried for his deliv- 
erance, and that the congregation of believers would be 
persistent in prayer for him. But he knew as well that 
the king had sworn with his own eyes to see him, the 
heretic, burned at the stake. 

He was treated cruelly and roughly in prison. They 
often had him in an iron cage. But his divine courage 

* State Prison in Paris. 


120 


Enduring Unto the End” (1558). 


was not weakened. In the midst of misery and torture he 
played on his lyre, which they permitted him to have, 
and sang the Psalms of David, over whose head also the 
waters of affliction had rolled. He gave comfort and 
encouragement to others thereby, and his own soul was 
lifted in tranquility to God. 

It was almost four weeks after that significant ses- 
sion of the senate. Paris was in a revel of rejoicing and 
pleasure. The wedding festivities of the royal ladies 
lasted many days, all the pomp and luxury known at that 
time being lavished on them. 

In the neighborhood of the Bastile there was a street 
called St. Anthony, where they held a tournament. The 
king had distinguished himself by his skill upon the field, 
and devoted himself more and more passionately to the 
sport. On a certain day, although evening was already 
approaching, he could not tear himself away from the bat- 
tle-ground, and at last handed Count Montgomery his 
lance to have still one more turn with him. In the Count's 
rush upon him, however, his lance broke and a splinter 
deeply penetrated the king’s eye. The grievously wounded 
monarch was taken into a nearby house, which had been 
decorated for the festivities, and there, dying, the king 
was laid upon a bed of state, at the head of which hung 
a canopy representing the conversion of Paul, with these 
words : ‘‘Saul, Saul why persecutest thou me?” 

121 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


On the tenth of July, amidst great suffering, he 
forever closed his eyes, — those eyes which had wanted 
to see the witness of the truth burned at the stake. 

The friends of Anne du Bourg took hope again. 
They turned to the queen with a petition, the prisoner 
permitting no other course. As a special favor he was 
allowed to see some of his friends at appointed times, 
and he accepted this privilege with gratitude. One of the 
first to be admitted was Victor, who in tears clasped his 
imprisoned friend in his arms. The latter, too, was 
greatly moved ; but a divine peace rested on his pale 
features and only words of exultation came from his lips. 

‘'Did Constance send me no message?” asked Anne 
du Bourg after a little while. 

j “Yes, she said to me, ‘Tell my friend, I have in 
my heart only one prayer for him, that he may endure 
unto the end.’ ” 

A smile illumined the features of the senator, and he 
replied : “I thank her, it is the only thing that I still need.” 

The friends talked together a long time, and at 
last Victor said: “I must tell you, Anne, that we are 
filled with new hope for you; Count Otto, who consid- 
ers you a distinguished jurist, has sent representatives 
to secure you, if possible, for Heidelberg.” 

“That will only hasten my doom,” answered Anne 
du Bourg gravely ; my enemies will try me before the 
men arrive, or I do not know the Cardinal of Guise.” 

122 


Enduring Unto the End'' (1558), 


In dismay Victor looked at his friend. Was there^ 
alas, no way to save this noble, great-hearted man ? They 
soon parted, comforted by the great Friend of souls who 
sanctifies all earthly friendships. 

The senator had not been mistaken. His doom was 
hastened forward. The trial took place in the Bastile. 
He was asked concerning his faith; he testified with 
divine courage and without reservation, neither did he 
conceal that he had taken the Holy Communion in both 
forms because he had considered it as right and com- 
manded. The court, with the Bishop of Paris at its 
head, condemned him as a heretic. 

/ Wholly undaunted he received the sentence, and 
only one thing caused him pain, that the execution was 
to be put off until December. But even to this his soul 
bowed in resignation as to the will of God, and he em- 
ployed the time in writing out his confession of faith for 
the benefit of his friends of the congregation, a member 
of which he counted himself. 

Week after week passed, and the believers were not 
able to understand why the Lord should let His faithful 
servant wait so long unless He had some special purpose 
in the delay. They thought perhaps that there might still 
be a way to save their noble friend’s life. 

Anne du Bourg’s strength failed in the foul air of 
the prison, and his soul, too, often grew weary, although 
always resting on the Lord. One day, when he was par- 
123 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


ticularly weak, some acquaintances came to him and 
urged him to write out a milder confession, which would 
immediately set him free. After much persuasion they 
had their wish, but as soon as they had gone he repented, 
and would gladly have given his life to have been able 
to undo the deed. 

What he had done was soon known in the congre- 
gation, and his real friends came and besought him to 
stand by his first glorious confession. 

One day two men entered his cell. With joy he 
recognized Victor, and as he looked with surprise at his 
companion the latter threw off her head-covering, and 
there escaped from the amazed prisoner’s lips the one 
word, “Constance !” 

“I am keeping my promise,” said she with a firm 
voice, although her lips were quivering with inward 
emotion. “My friend, return to your first confession ! 
Ah, did we become indolent in prayer, that you became 
weak ?” 

The eyes of the senator rested firmly on the speaker. 
When she ceased speaking, he replied, a swift flush suf- 
fusing his pale cheeks: “I repented long ago that I 
yielded; here is another, a good confession for the 
Church ; my friends, pay no heed to the first. Announce 
to them that I am steadfast and that God will forgive 
me for having wavered.” 


124 


Enduring Unto the End” (1558). 


“God bless you for it!” exclaimed Constance with 
joy, “you will be a shining light for many.” 

“I will seek to make good the failure, of which in 
a moment of weakness I was guilty.” 

The young wife gave him both her hands, which he 
held in his own for a long time. Ah, what joy he felt 
at this token of warm and loving friendship. Upon 
taking leave, Victor gave him a letter from the reformed 
preacher Marlosat, who was at the head of the congre- 
gation of Paris, saying to him with gladness: “It is no 
longer necessary for you to read it, you have done already 
what he besought you, namely, to stand by your first 
confession. Nevertheless read the words of the faithful 
man. ” s»» 

On the occasion of another short visit of consolation 
from his beloved friends which was granted to the pris- 
oner, in parting, the latter said: “Victor, flee as soon 
as you find a favorable opportunity.” 

“Not yet, dear friend.” 

“Do not wait for my death, which the Lord delays.” 

“We shall wait,” interrupted Constance. 

“And then?” 

“Then, when you are in your heavenly home, we 
shall hasten from this place of sadness and horror.” 

She said this so calmly and decidedly, that there was 
no gainsaying her. 


125 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


“Thank you,” whispered the prisoner, lightly touch- 
ing her white forehead with his lips. 

Then he embraced his friend, it was a last parting 
for this life. When the heavy door closed behind them, 
the senator continued for a long time walking back and 
forth, his face shining with ecstacy and peace. The Lord 
had given him again the old heroic courage, and he re- 
joiced that every hour was bringing the end nearer. 

On the twenty-first day of December he solemnly and 
joyfully declared again before the judges that he would 
live and die in his faith. Thereupon the sentence was 
read to him^ that he should be burned. Then the old man 
knelt down and thanked God that He deemed him worthy 
of so great an honor, to die for the vindication of the 
eternal truth, and prayed also to God to forgive his 
judges. To these also at last he spoke earnestly of the 
true salvation and the true path to blessedness. Many 
were deeply moved and would gladly have set him free ; 
but they were bound, and their souls knew nothing of the 
freedom of the children of God. 

The condemned man was taken in a cart to the place 
of execution, guarded by four hundred soldiers, since 
there was a fear of an uprising of the people. Having 
come thither he took off his outer garments as quietly 
as if he were going to bed. Then he turned to the peo- 
ple and announced in a loud voice that he was suffering 
for the sake of the Gospel. In a moment the executioners 
126 


'‘Enduring Unto the End'' (1558), 


threw a rope about his neck, for it had been granted him 
as a special grace that he should be strangled before he 
was burned. They still heard him pray: '‘My God, do 
not forsake me that I may not forsake Thee !” His eyes 
fell upon a man in the multitude who was holding his 
clasped hands high, and upon a young, deathly pale 
woman whose glorified face was turned heavenward, — 
they were Victor and Constance. A last smile passed over 
the countenance of the dying man, then, the everlasting 
habitations were opened to him. He saw what he had 
believed and steadfastly confessed. 

That very day two pooily-clad peddlers walked 
slowly out of Paris toward the next village. There a 
man with horses was waiting for them, who, when he 
saw them said softly: “God be praised!” It was the 
faithful servant Henry, who wanted to help Victor Roger 
and his wife in their flight. 

The newcomers greeted him sadly, and he looked at 
them with questioning eyes. 

“Is my master dead?” 

Victor nodded, unable to speak for anguish, but 
Constance said : “He died confessing the faith, Henry ; 
he was a great man in God’s kingdom, and his death will 
become for many the entrance into eternal life.” 

Silently the old servant wiped away his tears. The 
other two mounted their horses, once more giving the 
faithful servant their hands in parting, then slowly rode 
127 


For the Sake of the Faith. 


away in the evening twilight toward a distant and free 
country. When the stars in all their wondrous beauty 
appeared overhead, Victor stopped his horse, looked up 
at the shining firmament and sighed. 

“My friend!’^ 

Then he turned to his beloved wife, whose beaming 
eyes met his as she whispered : 

“He is in His Father’s house.” 



128 








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